


Come Into My Parlor

by ellethom



Category: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types
Genre: A/B/O Sexual content, Black Widow - Freeform, Breeding, But may be right about WIll, Dark Will, Fingering, Gore, Hannibal is Hannibal, Implied Mpreg, Jack is clueless about Hannibal, M/M, Murder Mystery, Rough Sex, Sex, Typical violence for this fandom, Violence, Will is a Mess, a/b/o dynamics, more tags to be added as the story goes, underage marriage, who knows maybe not
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-07
Updated: 2020-09-14
Packaged: 2021-02-25 11:01:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 8
Words: 37,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22495006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellethom/pseuds/ellethom
Summary: “Omegas aren't typically murderers, Jack.” he sniffed as if the words themselves were offensive to his own belief system.“This is mostly true,” he said. “But, there have been cases.”Hannibal Lecter M.D. is brought into the FBI to help Jack solve a mystery, catch an unusual predator.Jack just wants the case solved, and Hannibal may have found a new mind to toy with.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 69
Kudos: 258
Collections: Bottom Hannibal Day





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, 
> 
> My dudes, it has been a dog's age since I have written anything. This is a first for me on a few fronts. Bear with me, this summary may get winded. I'm a bit rusty too so forgive any mistakes or poor editing. No beta.
> 
> This is my first long foray into this fandom and my first hand at writing A/B/O fic. I will be posting once a week and I fear this may be a long one. A year ago on Tumblr, someone prompted for this sort of fic, and I thought ooo that's a good idea. But, alack and alas I could not find one in this fandom. So I woke up and decided I'd put on my Big Girl Panties and give it a go. I will be posting weekly and hopefully, the chapter length will be around the same 
> 
> The writing in this fandom is so good I was a little intimidated in writing in it, but I need to get my writing chops back so here we go.
> 
> I will be adding tags and warnings as written so if I miss any please feel free to give a kind heads up.

The office of Jack Crawford was as officious in its governmental aesthetic as it was devoid of personality. Hannibal Lecter sat in one of those dastardly officious chairs across from the man whose name sat on the tedious plate on his desk. “Omegas aren't typically murderers, Jack.” he sniffed as if the words themselves were offensive to his own belief system.

In many ways, they were.

Jack angled his considerable frame back into his chair and sighed. He carried the mask of a man long accustomed to arguing impossibilities with those lacking in imagination. “This is mostly true,” he said. “But, there have been cases.” Jack toyed with the file in front of him. Thick, but not as onerously so as some of the other cases the two men had discussed in their long history. 

Hannibal’s hand twitched beneath the coat slung over his arm. He knew more than anyone how true that statement was. “I don't see how this unfortunate set of circumstances could amount to a homicidal Omega.”

The Alpha across from his gave a little grunt and pushed the file across to him “Unfortunate circumstances are often what adds up to more nefarious coincidences, which usually surmount a case of serial murders.”

Hannibal nodded.

“And, in this day and age, it's a rare thing to know anyone’s secondary gender so...overtly.” It was true. Modern medicine and hormonal therapies had made secondary gender reveals completely reliant on the revealer. If you wanted to catch yourself a mate, you simply went off your meds. Most people hide their gender, it was fast becoming inappropriate to know the gender of anyone unless they chose to display it.

“Three mates in nine years to die of mysterious causes.” Jack threw across the desk as if announcing the stats of last night’s ballgame. “Three Alphas, all from wealthy powerful families, all mysteriously dead. One omega.”

Hannibal allowed his hands from under his coat and pulled the file into his hands. He opened the folder to see the first page. A dossier in shimmering FBI font, with a photo paperclipped to the top right-hand corner. The man in the photo seemed completely innocuous, though the lack of color of the headshot. His eyes though. The intensity struck the doctor as he continued on to quickly scan the given information. 

He could feel Jack’s consideration as he perused the information. Male, Omega, 25 years of age. Mated three times. The first time was at 16. “He was a prodigy?” Hannibal finally asks.

Jack nods, leans forward as if whispering the secrets of the universe. “He graduated from Tulane at 15, managed a degree in Forensic Science of all things.” Jack sighed. “He was poised to go on to furthering his studies but,”

“He presented as an Omega.” Hannibal finished. “While that can be a limiting factor in career goals, there was no reason for him to end his studies. We both know that secondary genders can be subverted.”

“Medically,” Jack said. “But not culturally. William Graham is from the deep south. I don't know how much you would understand about the pathologies of that region of our fine country, but traditions still hold true. Graham would have been pressured to find a good Alpha and settle down. Start popping out babies and keeping house.”

“Which is why the advent of therapies like Melexone and Pelazone have been so advantageous.” Hannibal shook his head, freeing memory and remembrance from cloying at him like smoke. “So he found himself an Alpha and bowed to cultural expectations.”

“Not just any Alpha.” Jack said. “The only son of the Bernardone line. Old, old Louisiana money.”

He was familiar with the family, as most would be. Anyone who knew the arts would be familiar with the family. Cotton growers who turned their fortunes into the modern era by implementing new technologies in animal husbandry and farming. “And, what became of poor Mr. Boneforte?” Hannibal asked flipping through the file.

Jack slid another file across to the doctor. “You mean, aside from the kick in the head from a thoroughbred Stallion?”

“Is that what ended him?”

A smile slid across Jack’s face. “No, but it did leave him...incapacitated. In fact, it was after the accident that Graham married him.”

Hannibal raised his head. Traumatic Brain Injuries were notoriously incapacitating to higher brain functions. Even with what Hannibal could only assume given the family’s standing, was the best medical attention, a brain injury of that magnitude would have left the man, at best, a functioning five-year-old. “Doesn’t speak much of William Graham to mate a man in such a state. “

“It would seem the family was all for it.” Jack raised his hands and shook his head. “I can't say I would leave my wife if she sustained such an injury; but I would give a lot of thought, as I am sure everyone else would if I had married her after an injury like that.”

Hannibal had to agree. “The wealthy move in different ways than those of the middle class, Jack.” He said, still tossing through the file. “They do things for reasons that don't always make sense to others who are not in the same financial index.” 

Jack’s face twitched, and Hannibal could only assume it was given their obvious differences in tax brackets. “Be that as it may, Doctor., “ Jack said, “there are three dead mates. I would hazard a guess that an omega with that many funerals to attend within nine years may be capable of murder, regardless of wealth status. “ He sighed then, “Bernadone was the first one. Died of blunt force trauma. “ 

“Weapon?” Hannibal asked.

“From what the ME can ascertain? It was with bare hands. Graham swears no knowledge of what happened. And unfortunately, that bears out in some ways. Mr. Bernadone was found in the stables, Graham was on a fishing trip at the time. He’s alibied by the family, apparently, Graham is quite the fisherman.”

I’m sure he is, thought Hannibal. ”So, if there is evidence that Graham was innocent of his first mate’s death, what leads you to believe he would have murdered the other two?”

Jack offered the photos of the other two deaths, “Crime scenes of the other mates’ murders. Anything jump out at you?”

He could not deny the similarities of the deaths. All three mates were literally beaten to death, savagely. Hannibal had the sudden urge to know this man, know the monster that rolled under his omegan skin. There was no question of rage, but the scenes held a radiance, a beauty in the photos of the bodies was eerily similar in their staging as well. Jack went on without waiting for the doctor to respond. “William Graham doesn't have an alibi for these two, but has skated along on the idea of both his second gender and the belief that his first mate’s death was just a tragic mishap.” Jack insisted. 

Hannibal closed the file, “What is it you want me to do here, Jack? I assume you didn't invite me into the confines of the FBI to sip subpar coffee and tell tales of the woeful riche.”

“You are familiar with Omegas, Alana Bloom tells me everything she learned about the psyche of the gender, she learned from you.” Jack Crawford was never above stroking the venerable psychiatrist’s ego when there was work he wanted done--be it consulting or a home-cooked meal. Hannibal had an inkling both would be finessed.

“I’ve learned more from her than she could have learned from me.” Hannibal offered with a smile. “Alanna Bloom was one of my finest students and a great mind in her field.”

“Be that as it may, you’ve worked with us before, and Alana seems to be unwilling to work on this one. Says she is too close to Graham. Said we should get you to talk to him.”

Hannibal sat up straighter if that were at all possible. He managed to keep his face the blank visage so often attributed to him. “You would like me to interview him. Jack, I don't think he would admit anything to me. Omegas are usually timid and wary of strangers. I don't see how my speaking with him could offer any information that Alana Bloom, as a friend, couldn't get .”

“As I said,'' Jack offered, “Alana refuses to be involved in this. She has been Graham’s acquaintance for years now. Believes we are just ‘picking on him.’ Alana thinks William Graham is just a victim of a lot of circumstantial evidence that wouldn't hold up in a court of law.”

Hannibal understood. “And you seem to think otherwise.” 

“I know that in your practice, you have dealt with a lot of Omegas, that you seem to understand their nature. “ He held his hands up in defense. “I know, most people don't advertise whether they are a giver or a breeder and I couldn't care less about whether or not an Omega is capable of such brutality as these deaths.” Crawford opened the file in front of him and displayed three more photos, crime scenes so visceral that Hannibal was reminded of his time as an ER surgeon during a holiday weekend. So full of rage and gore that he had to tamp down the rush that coursed through him at the displays. If Jack was appealing to Hannibal’s sense of propriety to get him to work the case, then Jack was not only desperate but still woefully blind to at least one monster.

Jack clasped his hands. “We’ve known each other for a while, Hannibal. You’ve helped us in some cases, cases that met with a favorable close with your assistance. Your skills in psychiatry have helped us understand the motives and actions of many of these people.” Jack tapped a thick finger on the stack of files resting between them. “I want to understand this one. I need to know if we have a man who has seemed to end up in the wrong relationships at the wrong times-”

“Or, a Black Widow, I believe is the term.” Hannibal supplied. He scooted the files into a neat pile and clasped them into his hands. “I assume You would like me to speak with the venerable William Graham, nee Bernadone, nee Hobbs, nee…” Hannibal glanced at the top file, surprised at the last name on the list “Tier.”

If relief had a physical form, Jack Crawford would be wearing it with a flourish. “Yes,” he said finally. “There are a lot of people--Hannibal I need not explain to you how this has affected those within these circles. There is a lot of pressure to either figure this out or make it go away.” Jack waved at the files in his hands. “Take those, read them. Familiarize yourself with every detail. We’re gonna set up a time and location for an interview within the next few days. “

Hannibal knew a dismissal when he heard one. He rose from his h=seat, coat and files in hand. “Shall we meet at the usual place to discuss the interview structure?” 

Jack’s face lit with the possibility of a home-cooked meal. “You making that thing with the veal?” he asked, smile already dismissing the moue of distaste he had worn since Hannibal had entered his office. 

“I can be persuaded.” Hannibal smiled. “I’ll phone you with the details. And Jack?”

“Yes?”

“Give Bella my best.” He said and closed the door behind him.

His phone rang as he made it to his car. Not accustomed to constantly checking for messages as so many weren't these days, he was surprised to find five messages and two missed calls. All Alana. “Good day, Dr. Bloom,” he said as he slid into the passenger seat of the Bentley.

“You only call me when you are annoyed with me.” Alana giggled. “If you had checked your phone like normal people, you would not have been prepared for the slaughter.”

He held in a sigh, fond as he was of the woman, she did have a hyperbolic way with words. “I assure you, there is no annoyance at hand, Alana. I was surprised to hear that you have knowledge of the person of interest and that you recommended I deal with this one. May I ask what you are apprehensive to insert yourself into the case around William Graham? And, more importantly, why you failed to mention any of this at dinner last night?”

“Yeah,” Alana’s voice came through the tinny speaker. “But you’re buying.”

‘Buying,’ included, as in most if not all of the good doctor’s relationships, his predilection to both feeding and watering his friends at a level one could only get with a Michelin Star. 

Alana bloom entered his well-appointed home as she always did, on a wind of beauty and life that filled around each silent corner. As she waltzes through to the heart of his home, Hannibal has time to wonder, in another life would she have been something more than an occasional dinner guest and friend?

“I did try to warn you,” Alana said by way of greeting. 

Hannibal nodded. “Yes, I did finally see your messages and missed calls. “

She began chopping chard with little prompting, having found her usual place laid out for her, “I thought, if anyone could dispel any of this foolishness with Will, it would be you.” She said finally.

“Tell me about him.” He offered from his spot over the stove. 

Alana took a long sip of her beer, “I would prefer not to. Will likes his privacy and has a reasonable expectation of my respect for that.”

“As anyone should.” Hannibal readily agreed though he was certain her words were merely an introduction to her spilling as much as she felt comfortable with about the elusive Omega. Hannibal had to admit to a level of intrigue for a person he had not felt in quite a long time.

Over his shoulder, he noticed Alana’s shoulders lower as she took another deep sip of her beer then set her expression into something Hannibal only recalled her making at difficult patients. “Will Graham isn't someone anyone should be concerned with. Other than medical professionals.”

“I haven't had much time as of yet to fully review his file.” Hannibal lowered the fire under the soup. “Is he ill?”

A smile crested over her bright features. “No, not physically,” she said. “We met through a mutual friend. Then kept running into each other at conferences. Everyone loved him, well his mind at least. “ She continued chopping, though with far more force than she had before. “That’s all anyone saw, was his mind. I wasn't surprised when he stopped showing up at those conferences. Stopped his studies altogether. When I got the wedding invitation, well, it just made sense..”

Hannibal turned to give her his full attention. “How so.”

“Will Graham was on display. Since the time he was eleven and managed to finish high school,” she said. “He has been on the radar for anyone wanting to understand the mind of a genius.”

“Ah,” he said. “I see.”

“No you don't.” she accused, “But if you talk to him long enough, you will understand. Or, he’ll understand you. Probably better than you know yourself.”

A smile tugged at the doctor’s face. “Are you trying to tell me this young man is psychic? Alana, I thought you were a woman of science.” 

“I’m not talking about psychic phenomenon, Hannibal.” She said, her face determined in her task of reducing the vegetables to finely chopped and expertly cut. 

Her lips shot into a wry smile. “He was sharp. Sharper than most, but he has a…” Her voice trailed off as she took another pull from her special reserve. “Hannibal, I need to have assurances from you that you are not going to try to use him.”

Hannibal nodded. “Of course Alana, he is your patient.” he assumed.

“No,” she said, “he is my friend. And I protect my friends.” 

Hannibal wasn't surprised. Alana had always taken a shine to broken things. Something he had noticed early in his mentoring of her. No surprise she ended as a psychiatrist for those who experienced trauma. 

“I didn't want to drag Will under the harsh microscope of those that would look at his mind and think ‘test subject’ and ‘published article’. Will deserves better than that.” She fell silent then, and Hannibal allowed the quiet to fill the spaces between them.

By the time they had sat down to eat, Alana seemed less volatile, but an air of gravity had settled over their meal. “Hannibal, I know you haven't been in on this long, and I know you still have files to read, things to learn. I need another favor,” she said.

“Of course,” he said.

Alana pushed her empty plate to the side and clasped her hands in front of herself. “I need you to go into this with an open mind,” she said. “Jack has already made his assumptions into facts, facts that don't necessarily paint Will into a picture of innocence.”

The warmth of her tone when she spoke of her friend was a clue to how she felt about him. Alana’s love for broken things did not extend to those she felt were guilty of heinous crimes. If she had believed that Will was capable of murder, it would have lead the conversation. “Do you believe in his innocence?” He asked.

“I believe Will deserves a fair assessment. Hannibal, he’s lost three mates, in the span of nine years. You can't go into an interview with him with a prejudiced expectation of his reactions, anyone in that situation would be fragile at best. Especially given his secondary gender. Will isn't a killer, he is a man in mourning.”

Hannibal nodded, silently categorizing his friend’s reactions. She was protective of him, and more than likely considered him not only a friend but one of those broken things she was prone to championing. “Of course, Alana. I have every intention of threatening this situation like I would any patient who came for me for help. I may be on the FBI payroll for consultancy, but I am still a therapist, I still have a duty of care.”

It was Alana’s turn to give an absent nod. “What Will has is something most people of our ilk would kill to study to lock him into an environment and study him.” She sighed. “I need to know you have no intention of studying him, Hannibal. Will deserves to be left alone to live his life.”

“We all deserve to be seen at, if not out=r best, at least fairly.” he tipped his wine glass to her. “I promise you, Alana, I will attend to this interview as a casual observer. Our friend Jack has his own agenda, it is not mine.”

Jack Crawford managed to show up for dinner two days after he had spent the afternoon in his office. He came with more files and an appetite. Hannibal announced the meal as he placed it in front of the FBI agent. “You get a chance to read over that case?” Crawford asked after taking his first bite of the ‘lamb’ dish. 

Hannibal took his time adjusting his napkin on his lap and arranging his setting. “Of course. Fascinating creature this boy, Jack.”

Jack nodded as he chewed. “I’ll tell you one thing,” he said, rudely pointing his fork in Hannibal’s direction. “William Graham is a killer. I don't care how many degrees he got before he could drive. He’s had three mates, Hannibal. Most people only get one.”

Hannibal liked to think he was an evolved man, perhaps further so than most of the humans he shared the planet with. To that end, there were many unspeakable offenses he often found himself overlooking in the name of his continued freedom of movement. 

“We’re still trying to hammer down an interview arrangement.” Crawford shook his head. “Apparently, he has legal counsel now after the death of his last mate.” It wasn’t uncommon for the wealthy to be in a position to negotiate a time and place for an interview with law enforcement. One could argue the fairness and transparency of the American legal system given that, juxtaposed to those of lesser means, the wealthy seemed to have more rights than those in lower classes.

“Randall Tier, I believe?” Hannibal asked as if he had not stayed up half of the night reading over the files concerning Graham’s case. The more he read, the more he wanted to meet this man. “And I can assume that his legal counsel will be in attendance for our discussion?”

“More than likely.” Crawford nodded. “But, I think someone like William Graham may be in need of a good psychiatrist. “

He just may, Hannibal agreed silently. 

William Graham was as mysterious a creature as one could find outside of a piece of Victorian Literature. Hannibal found himself with a tablet in hand surfing and searching for any information regarding the young man. He’d read over the file the night before his dinner with good ole Jack.

The files on the deaths of his mate, and of the man himself could only give a two-dimensional picture. Hannibal wanted 4k Hi-Def. He needed to know who this man was. Being an Omega was so much more than the perceived easy manner, deferential to stronger personalities and ability to breed. These were key initial interpretations that most people assumed omegas were inclined toward. Hannibal had spent enough of his life and career subverting those tropes. In the present climate of hidden genders and surprise reveals, Hannibal Lecter was a man grateful for the ability to take his medicine and not be held to standards that followed outdated notions of what one gender was capable of.

Then again, it did allow him to hide out in plain sight. 

And, perhaps that was William Graham’s tailored suit as well. 

Crawford’s outdated ideals would be his undoing, the obvious Aloha was too assured in his own righteousness about who fits into what category. Of course, there had been omegas that had been found guilty of murder--crimes tied to loss of loved ones, children placed in unsafe situations that lead omegas to debase into their primal selves--adjudicators of hearth and home; protectors of what they held most sacred. 

For centuries, Omegas were classified as nothing more than breeding stock, less able to function without an Alpha than they could air. They were kept at home, functionally legal servitude for whatever Alpha had gotten there and bitten first. 

Hannibal could understand that, from the time he lost his own family and learned that justice came most swiftly and ardently from those closest to the wronged. Hannibal was taught at an early age that life is fleeting and that anyone, no matter their gender, can be capable of anything, given the proper circumstances. He learned that life calls to those who feel it and that those who are beneath that call are not suited to breathe air. There had been laws on the books barring their inclusion in everything from voting to high-stress jobs considered too much for their fragile natures. But, recent advocations and foolproof hormonal therapies have rendered those laws antiquated and summarily overwritten. Now, all genders were seen on an equal footing. Mostly. Though those beliefs were typically kept under the guise of political correctness and no one said anything openly or tied to any social media that was not anonymous. 

The search for information on William Graham lead through a tangled life of brilliance, madness and the uncanny ability to be around corpses. A kindred spirit indeed.

The road to Wolf Trap, Virginia broke off from the main road and transversed long plains of sallow fields that had been recently plowed. The scent of turned dirt and sweet fertile soil crept into the Bentley even through the closed windows. Early Spring in Virginia lent toward chill and choppy wind. Hannibal Lecter found himself reminded of early springs back home before the war before his life became something entirely different. 

He had not spoken with Jack since their dinner, it was the agent’s secretary that texted him the information; time, date and location. Hannibal had spent the past three days immersed into the life of William Graham, wanting to understand the young man to whom he would visit and possibly prove guilty of murder.

Only possibly.

The late morning sun hid behind clouds too fat to not promise rain later, and Hannibal made a mental note to ask for a secondary route back to the main road to avoid driving through mud on his way back to Baltimore and civilization. 

He had expected a grand mansion, a man who somehow managed three small fortunes should live in a fortress surrounded by every luxury imaginable and some that weren’t.

What he found as he pulled his Bentley into the gravel driveway of the quaint farmhouse was something entirely different from that assumption. The clapboard house couldn't have been more than 1600 square feet, surrounded by plains of those fields he had passed along his meandering drive. The front yard was a haphazard array of half overrun bushes and a boat on a trailer covered in a tarp. He parked behind a Volvo station wagon that had probably seen the last millennium as a used car. 

Curious.

The most surprising sight, though, was the spill of dogs that erupted from the suddenly opened front door. Not a single breed could be identified, the dogs seemed to be as patchwork in their breeding as the pack itself. Hannibal stood next to his car in the brisk air of the morning and watched the man himself emerged from his ‘castle.’

William Graham stood nearly as tall as himself, lithe yet broad-shouldered in a way that spoke of manual labor, not wealth and status. He stood on the porch as the dogs rushed across the yard toward him. A shrill noise from the man on the porch and all seven dogs stopped in their tracks and sat.

Impressive, Hannibal thought.

“You must be Doctor Lecter.” He called from his perch. “You look like a shrink.”

Hannibal nodded and moved toward the house with his hand outstretched. When no returning gesture followed, the older man tucked his hand back to his side and smiled. So, it would be like that, then. “Looks are usually misleading, but in this instance you are correct, but I am sure your counsel advised you of my professional background.”

Graham shook his head and sneered. “I hate psychiatrists.” But, he stood aside and held the door open in invitation.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the overwhelming (truly) support for this daft little thing. I hope this chapter continues to pique your interest. Please remember this is a mystery and there is a lot going on.

He moved like liquid, like Mercury. Hannibal watched Will move with a fluidity that reminded him of quicksilver; beautiful but deadly if held. Will left the dogs outside of the simple farmhouse as he put together coffee as silent as water. 

“I hope you don't mind the store brand.“ Will said suddenly;y snapping the silence between them like a rubber band pulled to its limit. “You look persnickety.” Graham tugged at the lid of the five-pound can, his face shone with annoyance

Hannibal was certain the coffee would be barely palatable but nodded just the same. “Cream, with one sugar, please.” He took the opportunity to look over the house, first impressions being as they were, he found the space an ordered sort of chaos. Neat but cluttered. Graham’s house spoke of a curious mind, too busy with learning to fit everything into his day. 

Will nodded and fell silent again. Hannibal realized he would have to make the first attempt at broaching the reason for his visit. “Mr. Graham, you do know why I am here.”

Will held up a hand. “We ain't gonna discuss anything until my lawyer gets here. We can sit and make nice, but I don't want anything I say taken out of context. No offense.”

“None taken.” Hannibal countered, accepting the coffee pressed into his hands. The earthen mug was so disparate from his fine bone china and delicately fired porcelain. He held the cup as he would have in an office cubicle. “I understand the hesitancy in speaking with me. I am, after all, from the FBI.”

Will said nothing over his own mug, a cup that sported dog tracks over the sides with an exclamation of ‘My dogs walk all over me.’ They stood opposite one another in the rustic kitchen, Hannibal regarding the younger man as he, in turn, regarded him. “You’re not actual FBI, though,” he said. “Which is to say, you don't actually work specifically for the FBI.”

Hannibal knew where this train was headed but could appreciate that any train arriving into a desired final destination was worth keeping the man talking. “I’m a psychiatrist first,” he admitted, sipping from his own mug. “I am here to ask questions, but I can't arrest you if that is your question, Mr. Graham.’

“My Sire is Mr. Graham,” he said with a sneer. “You call me that again and this conversation ends.”

Daddy issues, then. Hannibal considered this small bit of information wielded accidentally. I can definitely work with that. “Will, then?” the brunette nodded his permission and Hannibal smiled. “Well then, Willit is.” Hannibal finished the last of his coffee, “I would very much like to enter into our acquaintance on an equal footing.”

“You want me to call you by your first name?” Will said a sardonic smile crept around the lip of his mug. “Not terribly professional of you, Doc.”

“Perhaps, but it is as you say, First names it is then, Will.” He took another perfunctory sip of his ‘coffee.’ “Will your lawyer be here soon?” He asked, knowing that he was squarely on time for the interview, as was his nature, the tardiness of the lawyer was evident.

Graham shrugged. “She’ll be along in a bit,” he announced his eyes watching through the window facing the yard. “She is driving down from a fair distance.” Will turned, “you mind if I let the dogs in? Not sure it's all right for them to go wandering around out there too unattended.” 

The front door was opened just as another car pulled onto the gravel of the driveway. A young woman emerged from the Mercedes, sandy-haired and beautiful. Hannibal felt a stab of something he could not quite pronounce as the two met as old friends. 

Margot Verger was diminutive but only in stature. Her presence filled the small living room and commanded attention. She spoke in a fast, clipped manner so prevalent of young lawyers hell-bent to prove their mettle. “Dr. Lecter, I appreciate you and the FBI adhering to the arrangements if this interview.”

They sat on chairs that were never meant to reside in the same room. Graham sat at a precarious angle, as if ready to bolt and run for the fields at the first sign of trouble. “I assure you that the FBI merely seeks to close the books on this tragedy so that all parties can move forward with their lives.”

“Provided my client answers the questions put forth in your investigation,” Margot added with a twist to her full lips. 

Hannibal crossed his legs and sat back into the chair. “Ms. Verger, the nature of our investigation has led to my being here. I am not an official part of the FBI. Never received the training nor the certification required to wear that moniker of Special Agent.”{ He paused to look at Graham, the man had straightened his own posture and held himself completely still. “Any questions asked and answered here can only further serve to prove your client’s innocence.” 

Ms. Verger gave a quick look to her client, she continued when he offered a short nearly imperceptible nod. “Let’s cut to the chase, Dr. Lecter.. Will Graham hasn’t done anything wrong. There is no forensic evidence tying him to these unfortunate murders. Will wasn't even in town when his first husband--”

“Mate,” Will spoke, though his voice seemed choked and far away. “When my mate was killed.”

“Will,” Ms. Verger said. “I told you, let me handle this. You don't need to speak.”

“On the contrary,” Lecter said, pulled forward in his interest. “I would very much like to hear what Mr. Graham has to offer.”

“I’m sure you would, Dr. Lecter. However, I have zero interest in making the government’s case for them. Will has been through enough, he doesn't need to have the weight of the American government bearing down on him as well.”

Hannibal spread his hands in demonstration. “I am but one person here, Ms. Verger. I don't have an agenda. Yes, I was sent here as a consultant to speak with your client. Yes, while I represent the full weight of the American taxpayer, ourselves included, I am still a psychiatrist, a medical doctor of the mind, of the human existence, “

A snort from Graham turned his well-coiffed head to the direction of the younger man. “You don't really want me to believe that you are here in, what? A professional manner?” He stood and began pacing, clearly agitated but holding himself rigorously controlled. Hannibal could respect that. 

Hannibal, for his part, continued speaking without following the repetitive movement of the young man. “I may have been sent by the FBI, but I would agree to continue as a means of care.” He said, showing only one card of his full hand. 

Graham scoffed but stopped moving. “Oh, I see,” he said, moving to stand in front of the doctor. “You have your own agenda.” Graham’s eyes bore into him, a lesser man would squirm under the scrutiny. A lesser man would indeed. Hannibal Lecter merely folded his hands primly and returned the fierce gaze with one of his well-practiced masks of compassion. “Gonna write that paper, eh Doc?” Graham continued.

“Not at all,” Hannibal assured lightly. “I have absolutely no intention of writing a paper or presenting a study on any of this.” 

Another scoff, but Hannibal could see he had Graham’s attention. “Not even posthumously?” he asked.

“Yours, or mine?” Hannibal fired back. His quick wit, as usual, helped to defuse some of the tension between them. 

“I’m a killer, Dr. Lecter,” Will said with a twist of his lips. “Should you be making that joke in my presence?”

“Will!” Ms. Verger said. “Maybe making that joke isn't in good humor, either.” She turned to Dr. Lecter. “I think this interview is finished, and I can assure you that anything you may have just heard was said as a jest, and if you or your associates even consider it as an admission of guilt, I will file so many lawsuits your great-great-grandchildren will be born into litigation.”

He had to give the woman credit, what she lacked in experience, she more than made up for in sheer force of will. “As you say, Ms. Verger.” but made no move to rise from his seat, nor make his way to the front door. He would not have either, even if there wasn't an angry brunette standing in front of him. This was just starting to get good. 

“Margot,” Will aimed toward Hannibal but addressed his counsel. “Imma need five minutes,” he said.

Margot shook her head. “No way, Will. do you not understand the seriouslned=s of what you are facing?” She waved a hand at the psychiatrist.

“I have a fairly good idea of what’s at stake here, Margot,” Will said, still glaring daggers. “And I am a grown man capable of handling my own shit.”

To her credit, or she was completely accustomed to Will’s grumpy nature, Margot did not back down. She angled toward him in a slide into imminent ire, “No, I am your lawyer in this, Will. Right now, you are a child, right now I am the fine line between you staying in the free in clear and the Feds descending down upon you from high.”

“So dramatic,” his head tipped back as a feral smile fled across his features. He sighed in fond exasperation. Will made the Cub Scout honor sign, “I solemnly swear I am going to be expressly careful with what I say to the psychiatrist.” he said. “I will not mention any of the dead bodies in my attic.”

Margot rolled her own eyes this time but cast a look at the doctor as if challenging him to try and get to the attic. “Five minutes.” she nodded and stepped out of the front door, the furry stream followed silently at her heels, old friends assured of a good time with someone they knew they could trust.

Hannibal followed at Will’s gesture, making their way back into the rustic kitchen. Three dogs followed behind them, the ghosts of past treats coming from the same man in the same room. 

Will leaned against the sink and folded his arms. “What do you want?” he asked. 

Hannibal stood next to the island, opposite the cross man. “I have a list of questions the FBI would like answered in order to move forward in their investigation.” Hannibal offered. But, as a doctor of the mind, I see someone that is dealing with a lot of loss. Someone that is in need of a sympathetic ear.”

Will laughed. “Does that ever work?”

Chagrined, Hannibal sniffed. “It has, on occasion.” He allowed a small smile of shared incredulity. “But it is still, at its heart, a sincere offer.”

Will nodded, “So, what, you wanna head shrink me?” Will asked. “Get into my head, find out all my secrets? Then you can go to your masters in the Bureau and let them know all the terrible things you pr=erceive that I have done?”

Hannibal clasped his hands. “I am willing,” he began, “to offer you a chance to talk out your feelings. You’ve lost three mates, Will That can't be easy to deal with.”

Will scratched at his neck, over the scarred mark, “Yeah,” he said quietly. 

“If you would like, I am usually in my office every weekday until 7:30. Fridays are best as I find them quiet and less foot traffic around the area.” He pulled his card from his jacket pocket and left it on the counter between them. Will made no move to acknowledge at the offered card. 

“You ain't the regular kinda psychiatrist they usually throw my way,” Will said, his demeanor lazy and calculated. Hannibal was certain he was allowing that sweet down-home accent out to roam free. An attempt to disarm, to hide the intelligence that sat languidly in his cerulean eyes. William Graham was not trying to intimidate, there was no need. What Hannibal could ascertain in the younger man’s manner was something else.

He was sizing him up, assessing him as a wolf who had just finished a large meal and came across a lesser creature, deciding if the animal was worth the hunt.

Hannibal found he wanted to be worth the hunt. If allowed, he could teach this dog some new tricks. 

“I believe, given the opportunity, Will, you would find my methods quite unorthodox.” Hannibal countered, allowing his own thick accent to color his effect. 

“Unorthodox, huh?” Will sneered. “Is that what they are calling it these days?”

“I suppose so, God forbid we could become friends.”

“Nost of my friends are interesting,“ Will said,” I don't find you are all that interesting, Doc.”

Hannibal smiled with his entire visage. “You will.”

^^^^^^%^^^^^^

Jack Crawford was neither happy nor surprised at Hannibal’s recitation of the meeting, he was even further bothered that Graham had no desire for continued ‘conversations.’ “If you just could get him talking,” Jack had insisted over his meal. “We could get something on him.” 

It had been five days since Hannibal had met Will Graham. Five days since he was in the orbit of the fascinating man with all-seeing eyes. Hannibal had found himself wondering, how much could he see? Hannibal did not often find himself unsettled. He had learned and been taught to keep his face a moue of inscrutability. Meeting the young man had left him shaken in a way he had not felt since his own presentation. “Jack,” he began, “I can follow a recipe given to me to the letter, with acutely measured accuracy, and still.” Hannibal took a long sip of his wine. 

“And still?” Jack asked.

“I would have to repeat the procedure. Repetition until the desired composition is out just so.”

His dinner companion was, at the very least, a very quick study. Jack raised his own glass to Hannibal with a knowing chuckle. “If at first, you don't succeed?” 

“Success is achievable with repeated and unwavering satisfaction,” he said. “And I am nothing if not persistent, Jack.”

“Let’s hope that attitude pays off, Doctor.”

Hannibal could not help but agree, although he was far more certain of his own success. Will Graham had a lot of strong attributes: vast intelligence, vivid understanding of human behaviors, and tenacity. All of these were valiant characteristics, shared with Hannibal’s own characteristics. But, the one thing that they shared in nature, above all else, was the reason that Hannibal was so certain of Will Graham’s willingness to continue under his care.

Curiosity.

^^^^^^&^^^^^^^

“Word on the curb is that you have spoken with Will Graham. Care to go on the record about that?” Freddie Lounds was sprawled over his leather chaise, sun pooling onto her russet curls. Hannibal would admit that, to some, she cut a striking figure in her own brand of beauty. Some would say that, and he supposed that she used her good looks to her advantage whenever possible. 

“Ms. Loundsw, might I remind you, for the seventh time, that making false appointments to gain information only serves to waste both of our time?” He didn't have to guess at her secondary gender, Freddie Lounds was as stereotypically Alphan as one could get outside of a textbook. She was brash and forceful, and while he could not smell her thanks to the ubiquitous medications most partook in, he was also sure that if, given the chance, she could play omega to ingratiate herself into or out of any situation. 

He had been familiar with her blog, and Jack had used her a few times in dissemination tactics during high profile investigations. Somehow, she had le=atched onto him as someone who could be swayed to give information. The only scoops he had ever given her were vague and often misleading to suit his own needs. But Freddie, 

She kicked one leg over the other. “The definition of insanity, according to Albert Einstein, being what it is and all.” She smiled. “I have a feeling, this time, I might be able to convince you to talk to me on the record.”

Seated at his desk, Hannibal continued to sketch as a sour smile fell onto his lips. “I’ve never given you anything off the record, Ms. Lounds. What makes you think this time would be any different?” 

She stood and made her way to his desk. “I know that the FBI is terribly interested in The Black Widow,” she said, folding her arms and tipping her head, just so. “I know that a lot of people who move around in some fairly exclusive circles may have a lot to say about our Will Graham.”

He put down his pencil and rose to meet her gaze. “You, then, also know that those circles tend to be formed quite tightly, Ms. Lounds. I can't imagine anyone speaking out of turn for something so base as a mention in a second rate article of a True Crime blog.” Hannibal spit the final word out to garner a reaction. He was not disappointed in the young woman’s bristling. 

“Second rate can still generate a lot of click revenue, Dr. Lecter.” She fumed. “And if that is how you are gonna be, then I won't be sharing any of my information with you, no matter what you have to offer.”

“As you say, Ms. Lounds,” he said, returning to his sketch of Virginia fields. “I am certain you know the way out.”

The redhead did turn to leave but quickly turned back. “That’s it then?” she asked with something close to exasperation. “You just gonna let me walk out of here without even asking me about what I know?”

Hannibal was quickly growing tired of her antics. It wasn't the first time she had managed to get into his office under nefarious means, but he had always appreciated her quick wit and gentle psychosis masking at getting at the truth. He imagined that, at some point, she would be invited to his table. “Likely, anything you have to share I am already appraised of, Ms. Lounds. I can't imagine you would have any information that I could not get on my own.”

She leaned over the front of his desk, in a move he was certain she considered provocative and alluring. “I know something you don't know,” she sing-songed. “And I assure you, Doctor, you are gonna wanna know it as well.”

The more she taunted, the hungrier he got. Patience was wearing as thin as a good pie crust. “Ms. Lounds, I must in--”

“You’ve never been mated, have you?” He ignored her interruption, categorizing it into yet another reason to invite her for dinner, and mentally processing what theme to elevate her to. He was considering French provincial, perhaps a tongue cassoulet.” Definitely something with tongue 

“I have never been mated, no. Now, if you will please see your way out, or, if need be, I can escort you.”

She was completely nonplussed, “You’ve never been mated, so of course you don't see what is wrong with someone who has had three mates. Not husbands, mates. You’re a doctor right?”

He supposed he had brought this upon himself, not having put an end to her sooner. Needing to be as under the radar as possible. “I certainly hope so,” he said, finally rising to make sure she knew exactly how to exit his office. “Otherwise, I would have a lot of explaining to do to the authorities.“ He made his way to the patient exit. “Now, if you please?”

Freddie huffed and allowed her head to tip back, the gesture reminded him of a sulky teenager forbidden to use the car. “Fine,” she said. “But when you feel like talking--” she said hovering at the door longer than Hannibal would have liked, “I’ll leave you with this, Doctor Lecter.” She flounced as she twirled around one last time. “Will Graham isn't the Southern Gentleman Omega he wants the world to believe he is.”

He was losing more patience with her than a badly risen souffle--a souffle would be much easier to throw out. “Conjecture Ms. Lounds?” 

“This one’s for free.” She leaped down the stairs of the exit that lead to the gangway. “Ask him about his second mate,” she called over her shoulder and disappeared around the corner.

^^^^^^^^^^^&^^^^^^^^^

Friday evenings were not the busiest time in his office. Hannibal often took those hours of quiet study and annotations of the week’s patients. It was his favorite time of the week, and since the sudden, though not wholly surprising, departure of his previous secretary, Hannibal had found himself alone in those quiet hours. He had left the slot open, as he had said he would. But, as the clock edged toward 7:30, and Hannibal found himself sharpening his pencils for the third time, he began to wonder if Will Graham wasn't as he thought he was.

He’d spent his week since his trip to Wolf Trap ensconced into the day to day of his life. Jack and Alana had both expressed opposing desires for the outcome of the meeting. There had been no calls to the office number on his card, no email or any form of contact. Hannibal was a patient man, he preferred the game to come to him; but Jack Crawford didn't hold such patience, and Hannibal knew that eventually, Jack would place his velvet glove back into the shed and opt for a far blunter tool.

It had been over a week since his meeting with William Graham, and Hannibal was poised to make a phone call to rectify the situation, it was a delicate business, and Will Graham was no easy mark. He could easily tender the minds of his patients, often propelling them into situations their otherwise frail intelligence could never consider. 

Will, though. Will was a different matter altogether. One didn't mince an onion with a meat cleaver. Will was delicate work, but not due to his lack of intelligence. Will would be able to spot his 

The knock on his waiting room door was surprising, but not unexpected 

He stood in the waiting room, salmon-colored shirt and smart wool pants a far cry from the mechanic he had come across in Wolf Trap. He turned as Hannibal opened the door. Just his head, a smile tilting his pink lips. “Doctor Lecter,” he said.

It was fortunate that Hannibal had spent a large part of his life keeping his emotions under the strictest of control. He had often wondered if there would ever be a moment that his decorum could slip, that he would find an instance that would challenge his control. There had been one, once, but that had been long ago, and before he had decided that his own secondary gender was best left obscured hidden with his other 

This may have been that one instance. The man was exceptional. Hannibal had never let a thing like first or second gender get in the way of attraction. Hannibal Lecter knew he was a man that found beauty in the most primal places. Will Graham was primal, was one of those beautiful things in nature that would trap and kill, like the Sirens of Homer’s tales; or the selkies of an old myth. “Mr. Graham.” he managed.

Will slipped past him through the doorway, far closer than needed be. The young man’s body slid against his and Will turned to smile back at him. “I thought I would take you up on that offer, you know, for some therapy.” Will lowered his lashes and gave a coquettish look that, on anyone else, would have been absurdly irritating. 

“Of course,” Hannibal said, gesturing to the seats he used in his practice, Will, however, made no move to take one of the expensive seats. The young man twisted around, taking everything in. “This is quite the Gothic mind space you have here, Doctor Lecter.” 

“Visuals often aid in the freeing of one’s mind. Often, a good conversation can be started from something provocative.” He watched as Will’s hand went to the stag statue in the corner. “It's important to feed the eyes and the mind.”

“Visuals, right.” Will continued to meander around his office and Hannibal was less than surreptitious in his appreciation of the man’s form as he touched everything. Hannibal wondered if Will was aware of his subconscious scent marking, that if the younger man was not on the same gender deadening hormones as most of the world, would his office reek of him? Would he mind the intrusion, or find himself hobbled into his office chair for far longer hours than he should?

Hannibal slid into his usual chair and observed him. Will held himself close as if worried he would leave too much in any one space. He wandered over to the ladder that leads up to the second-floor library. Hannibal wondered if it were the books or the isolation that lead the man to climb the ladder and explore. “I wanted to clear the air,” he said from his lofty perch. “We never got to your list of questions.”

Hannibal crossed his legs, “would that be wise without your legal counsel?” he asked.

Will’s body was tortured toward a row of books, he slid one from its place and shrugged. “I suppose, if I had something to hide, I would want to be more cautious.” He turned and shot down a slick smile to the doctor.

“Do you have something to hide, Will?” Hannibal asked. 

“Is that one of your questions, Doctor?” Will slid down and dangled his legs through the slats of the railing, he leaned up against the rail with his head resting on one hand. 

Hannibal wondered if Will had come to unburden himself, or find his next victim. The subtle sultry manner of the young man made him both curious and hopeful. “Will, why come here if not to answer the questions?”

Will shrugged again. “You offered to help me, to ease some of the weight I carry.” He scratched at his neck where the over bitten skin had puckered and scarred. Will Graham had been marked three times, had held a life with three different Alphas. He had subsequently lost all three. Hannibal wondered, even if the man was not responsible for those deaths, what state of mind would that leave a person in? Omegas were known for their sensitivity, their love of sec=urity and sameness. Did the widow feel lost? Adrift on a sea of desperation?

Did he want revenge or absolution?

“Tell me about your mate. The first one.” Hannibal asked. Freddie Lounds had insinuated something about the second mate, Garret Jacob Hobbs, the son of a family that manufactured high-end health and beauty care items from unusual materials. Deer antler salve, Elk paste used to soften elbows and knees, and ointment derived from Caribou hooves, items that were the darlings of the upper class that swore by the miraculous results. The Hobbs motto was that all parts of their animals were honored and no part went to waste. They had even gone so far as to donate a large part of the meat rendered from their products to local food pantries. Hannibal had watched Freddie’s site for anything that would have spilled about the Hobbs heir, but she continued her ongoing series about the Chesapeake Ripper, mentioning nothing of William Graham or his dead mates. 

A gentle smile flittered across Will’s face, he drew his legs back up through the slats and folded them, still eaned over the railing. “Peter,” he said simply. 

“The file says he had had an incident before you married.” Hannibal knew he would have to tread carefully; a feral creature could be more dangerous if one were to poke at wounds. 

Will stood quickly and began to pace the second floor. “You want to know why I married someone with a TBI?” Will said anger edged on each word. “That’s what everyone wonders, isn't it?”

Hannibal did not flinch at Will’s sudden change of mood. He sat stony and contemplative, waiting for Will to change moods again. “I would suppose that many in your circle and beyond, would have questioned your motives,” he said finally.

Will made his way down the ladder and helped himself to the empty seat opposite Hannibal. “You’re a doctor.” He said after a long pause. “I’m sure you are aware that, even with a TBI, secondary gender is still relevant,” Will said. “Omegas will still have heats and Alphas will still go into rut.” 

“So you married Peter to get him through his ruts?” 

Will smiled again, a far off thing that seemed to reach back into times that were better. “Something like that. Pete was a good man. Loved animals. We had that in common.” Will ducked his head, the gentle smile still played over his features. “His family was unsure of what to do with him. They,” Will sighed and rubbed his face with his hands. “He was the only child, and I am sure you understand that families like that, it's all about legacy.”

Hannibal could understand that his own Baltic title still carried weight, along with the money sitting in his accounts that went along with that title. 

“The Bernadones wanted their son to have as normal a life as possible. He was a sweet soul, never raised his voice or got angry,” Will went on. “He used to get mad at the caretakers and maintenance men when they would set traps for the raccoons and mice. If it was up to him, the whole house woulda been overrun with them and Pete would have been in seventh heaven.”

Hannibal nodded in encouragement. 

“We had gone to college together, he was older than me but so smart.” Will shook his head. “I had barely known him before the incident with the horse, but my father had done work for the family, and somehow convinced my father that I was in need of a mate. I wasn’t, of course.”

“Of course,” Hannibal agreed, recalling the conversation with Jack about the antiquity of Southern expectations of culture.

Will leaned back into his chair and matched Hannibal’s pose. “I had a manufactured need, a history of excellence and a father that could be paid off.” He spread his hands “Lose-win-win.”

“You agreed to the match?” Hannibal accused, “You could have said no.”

Will threw his head back and laughed. “You ever go against your Pa, Hannibal?’ Will asked. 

There had been times, as a child, he had rebelled in his quiet intense ways. He balked at the expectations placed on himself, that his life would be mapped out for him due to his own secondary gender. But that had been Before. “When I was young,” he said instead. 

Will tilted his head. “Your folks, they aren’t around anymore, are they?” He said.

Face a stone mask, Hannibal answered, “no, they are not.” 

Will watched him through calculating eyes; shrewd and assessing. Hannibal was reminded of Alana’s warning, that Will could understand you better than you understood yourself. Hannibal hoped that was hyperbole, but feared, given Alana’s down to earth nature, it was the gospel of Will Graham. 

“I didn't kill him,” Will said after a time. “Pete, I didn't kill him. I loved him.”

Hannibal opened his mouth to ask another question, just as the phone in his office rang. It was the emergency line, reserved for his more neurotic socialites in need of further patting on the back. Sad, dull creatures who, once they got his emergency number, made easy o=work of cajoling the doctor into late-night pep-talks. The whole lot was dull, not a killer in the bunch, but still, enough fun to keep him busy between his hobbies. tHe didn’t want to answer, but Will’s raised eyebrow gave an indication of the man’s opinion of ignoring a call, even during his own session. “I’ll be right back, I do apologize for the interruption.”

Will nodded and waved him off, he seemed to dig deeper into his seat. It had been a robocall, not uncommon even for an unlisted number. The phone call lasted less than a minute but by the time Hannibal returned from the reception area, the patient exit door waws open, the chair was empty, and Will Graham was gone.


	3. Chapter 3

Jack, looked pained. He held a grimace upon his dark features as if Hannibal had just proven that God did not exist. “You are seeing him?” 

Hannibal took another bite of his dessert. “I have seen him, Jack. Verb tense makes the difference.” Jack was already in a bad mood, and Hannibal knew to goad him would only serve as indigestion, but why should Jack be in a good mood when Hannibal had been agitated since Will’s abrupt departure.

Jack had shown up for dinner with another case, another set of murders he’s wanted Hannibal to look at. 

“And, he claims he didn't kill his mates?” Jack asked, barely keeping the irritation from his intonation. 

“Mate,” Hannibal corrected. “We only discussed the one. The first one.” Hannibal was never unsure of his words, he calculated exactly what response that his dinner companion would express. He was not disappointed.

“The first one? Bernadone? Will Graham says he didn't kill his mate and you believe him?”

Hannibal made a show of adjusting his napkin and gathering the last of his dessert. Jack was a man hell-bent on capturing his prey. In many ways, the two of them were not dissimilar. Even without Jack’s Aplphan nature, the doctor could understand the joy of the hunt, the need to subjugate inferior prey. Though, Hannibal was starting to believe that Will Graham was far from inferior. “It's not for me to believe or disbelieve, Jack,” he said. “I am merely repeating what the man has asserted.” Hannibal gathered the finished plates after pouring Jack another glass of wine. 

Jack wasn't so easily quelled, “You do realize that Will Graham is under investigation, Hannibal. “ Jack said. “He’s not your patient.”

Hannibal smiled before excusing himself into the kitchen.” No, he most certainly is not.”

========&=======

“Oh, Hannibal, it’s been ages.” the older woman in the red dress nearly swoons with her declaration. “You haven't given one of your dinner parties in ages.” She even clutched at the pearls around her neck.

Hannibal offered one of his smiles that typically sedated conversations aimed at riling him into a predicted response. Hannibal instead took a long sip of his Cabernet and made a quick but stealthy glance around the room. A streak of brown curls warranted a rude but necessary longer glance. Will Graham had saddled up to the bar during intermission at the Baltimore Symphonic, a place he never would have thought to catch the fisherman. Unless, of course, he was fishing. 

“It seems I may have discerned someone getting the benefit of all those dinner parties you no longer host.” Mrs. Kamada said into her glass as she followed Hannibal’s gaze. “You know him?”

Not as well as he would like, “Somewhat,” Hannibal acquiesced.

The woman nodded, holding her drink closer to her lips as she continut=ed to share a glance at Will Graham. “You know, he is quite the talk of my friends. Three mates and he has magically survived them all. All before the age of 25. How do you suppose one does that? I’ve been stuck with the same lout for twenty-five years. Perhaps he could give out some pointers? Start a YouTube Channel? Teach a TED Talk?”

Will turned from the bar then and seemed to be surveying the room. He met Hannibal’s stare and tipped his tumbler of amber liquid his way. Will was dressed less like a fisherman now and more like a man of his station. His deep blue eyes were offset and made incandescent by the blue of his suit. Hannibal raised his glass back to him and smiled. “I suppose some of us are just better at survival than others, Mrs. Kameda. Please, if you will excuse me, I should make my salutations.”

The older woman smiled but waved him off into his quest. “Be careful of that one, Hannibal,” she said nearly out of earshot. 

Will leaned slightly back into the bar and sipped at his drink, which Hannibal could only assume by color and form was some sort of scotch, probably top shelf. 

“I would not have guessed you for an opera fan.” He said as he fell into the younger man’s orbit. 

Will took a slow sip of his liquor before speaking. “You should be careful of assumptions, Doc,” he said. “You can find yourself in all kinds of uncomfortable situations making snap judgments.”

Hannibal finished his wine and placed the glass on the bar next to Will. “I’ll try and remember that,” he said.

Will also finished his drink and placed it on the bar. “Chat échaudé craint l’eau froide,”

“Une fois mordu deux fois timide” Hannibal said with a smile. Surely this man knew all about bites and their consequences. “I wonder what they say about the third time?” he asked and signaled for the attention of the barman.

“They say it's easy to get out of situations that are no longer conducive to one’s own sanity.” Will wasn't looking at him as he spoke. He instead followed his own target as Hannibal had earlier. Following his gaze, Hannibal had a fair idea of to whom his gaze was aimed at.

“But my daddy always liked to say ‘Dix fois sur le métier, remettre son ouvrage.” He accepted the drink from Hannibal and took a sip without acknowledgment. 

Hannibal accepted his own drink from the barman and turned to face Will. “Isn’t that your solicitor’s brother?” he asked as if he didn't know. The Vergers were old money acquired from slaughterhouses and rendering plants. Quite in line with Will Graham’s ‘type.’ Young men with too much money on hand and no mate in sight. 

“I’m sure it is,” Will said. “If you will excuse me.” Will knocked back the last finger of his scotch and placed the empty tumbler on the bar. Hannibal nodded and watched Will saunter on to his next acquisition. 

XXXXXXXXXX

William Shannon Graham was aware. Aware of what others thought of his plight, aware of his situation. He cared little for either. He stood in the kitchen of his hideout space; his home between was what he considered it. The fish he’s caught in the wee o=hours of the n=morning were lined up along the counter. He held the knife in his left hand and held the heads as he cut along the smooth pale bellies. 

Gutting them. 

He liked the quiet of his house, even with his seven dogs he reveled in the silence that enveloped the land far out in the boonies of Virginia. A far cry from the lavish luxuriance of his former residences. Most folks would have moved into a mansion, grabbed the wealth and debauchery and stayed. But, Will had never any intention of becoming a permanent resident of society pages and ten thousand dollar a plate luncheon. Those were just, window dressings.

No, he was happy with the way things in his life had gelled, well mostly. Some things were better off left in the ether of memory streams.

He’d been aware of his father’s planning and scheming long before he had walked across the stage and grabbed for his lambskin accolade. His father had had plans for his future, and the moment he realized his boy’s secondary gender wasn't what would gel with those plans, Beau Graham made a secondary plan. 

Will couldn't fault his father, having grown up poor, he wanted a life for his son that he had once only glimpsed, had brushed up against for the briefest of moments, leaving him wanting, panting after more of it, and in the possession of a small child. Left to their own devices along the Bayous of Louisianna and the places that the gentry would never imagine, Beau Graham felt bereft of the life he had had with Will’s mother; a short-lived affair that ended when the young omega chose family wealth over shame and poverty. 

He’s never known his mother, only stories offered over dinners of mac and cheese and meatloaf. His father would tell him of the abject wealth his mother’s family lived in, and that Will was entitled to that life by sheer birth.

But, his mother had been a young Omega who had foolishly followed after the help, an Alpha of small means and smaller prospects. His father always claimed he held no desire for wealth and riches, but he demanded that for his only son; that it was what Will deserved. Will, on the other hand, knew all of this to be the bullshit that it was, that Beau Graham missed the money, the perceived power, and had planned for his son accordingly. 

It wasn't until Will’s presentation four months before he was to finally start his graduate studies that changed Beau Graham’s carefully laid plans and blew them all to hell.

To his father’s defense, male omegas were worth more than their weight in suppressants, and even though Beau Graham had to adjust to a change in his strategies, the old Alpha had still come out on top. 

Play yer part, Willy, and it’ll all be fine.

Will finished gutting the fish just as the phone in his living room began to ring. He wondered why people even still had landlines, but he himself knew that the chances of anything being friendly decreased dramatically when faced with a landline call. 

Hands covered still in fish slime, the dogs followed him through the old house and into the main room, hopeful for a lick. He shooed them away and turned down the Carl Lewis record playing before wiping his hands on an errant dishtowel he’d placed over one pf his displaced armchairs and reached for the cordless. 

“Will, please tell me you didn’t go and sit in Dr. Hannibal Lecter’s office without counsel.” Alana’s voice held a cadence of anger and disbelief. Ever since he had met the older woman when he was thirteen, she had taken up the mantel of the disapproving older sibling he had never really wanted. 

“I didn’t go and speak with Dr. Hannibal Lecter without legal counsel.” he fired back with scant believability.

“Will,” she sighed then, as if talking to him took everything out of her. Alana Bloom would make some poor errant bastard absolutely miserable someday. “I thought Hannibal was joking, then I realized he doesn't joke. At least, not like that. Most of his jokes involve poorly placed puns at the dinner table. “

Will had already lost any patience he may have had with this conversation. “I’m sure that means something, Alana, but I am in the middle of--”

“Will, you do realize he works for the FBI.”

“So do you, Alana, what’s the point here?”

Will could hear her displeasure, sure of her soon to be reductive speech to him about how fragile he was, how he should be careful of who he trusts at a time when so many eyes are on him. 

She didn't disappoint.

“You can't just go talking to people without being properly represented, Will.” she paused to take a breath, “there are people who are looking to you for the deaths of your husbands--”

“Mates,” Will corrected, finding a new bubble of anger in the assertion that people seemed to forget that part. In current medical freedoms, the idea of mates and bonds were becoming de passe. No one needed to display who they really were unless they chose to. Will, however, had had no choice but to wear the mask that everyone wanted to see.

A beat of silence was the only admittance of her mistake before she barrelled forward. “I have known Hannibal for years, and I can tell you he is a straight shooter, Will. He is compassionate, yes, but he won't hesitate to do the right thing if he for one second believes that is putting you in the crosshairs of this investigation.”

There was so much that Will doubted in that statement, Will could dissect it but decided that he=is arguments would fall on deaf ears. Alana was a woman of convictions and loyalties, both admirable qualities but also easily blinded. Will was certain Dr. Hannibal Lecter had blinded her as easily and seamlessly as he had blinded everyone. Hannibal Lecter was most assuredly not a straight shooter. “Alana, I appreciate the concern,” he allowed for that sweet accent to slide forward, knowing it would placate her into ending her diatribe. “But, really I’m fine. I got nothin to worry about, remember? I’m innocent.”

Another beat of silence told Will all he needed to know about Alana’s certainti=y of his statement. “You need to be careful right now, Will. If you can't do it for yourself then think of Abby and Bertie. They don’t deserve any of this. It’ll be hard enough for them that they have lost their fathers, what happens when they are old enough to ask questions?” 

He does think about them. Thinks about them all the time. It was why he left the life of a pampered widow and left them in the care of those more comfortable in that sort of lifestyle than he was. No Alana would be best suited to not bring his daughters into any of this. “That’s not fair, Alana,” he said.

“Life isn't fair, Will,” she said as if Will wasn’t already fully aware of the status of how life could reach up and rip your innards out and splay them flat for the crows to feast on. No, Alana, life was not fair. Just ask Peter. “You need to understand the gravity of every word you may utter in anger, every action has an equal and potentially volatile opposite reaction.”

He certainly hoped so. Otherwise, what was the point?

Will wanted to listen to more of her recitation of the hazards of playing with fire, he really did. If for nothing else than a reprieve from the distemper that the ancient country music he’s been listening to all morning had placed him in. But as Alana was on her third bend around ‘Poor Unstable Will Graham Boulevarde,’ Will heard the rattle of pebbles being crunched under fine tires. He turned to see a Bentley sliding across his driveway. It bothered him that he knew enough rich folks to have to think who he knew drove a black Bentley of that model.

Oh, Will thought, phone cradled between his head and shoulder, This Asshole. 

Will had a fleeting thought about speaking up devils and magical demonic incantations before responding idly to the voice on the other end of the phone while still looking out his front window. “Alana, I have no intention of landing myself in jail. I am certain Dr. Lecter is as you say but he is, first of all, a man of medicine. He’s only trying to help me get past my losses.” 

Yeah, right.

“Be that as it may, Will. I am going to talk to Magot, she needs to make you more aware of your situation. “

Sure, she does. Will sneered silently. And he was certain that she needed little prompting for a reason to talk to Margot Verger. But, that was a conversation for another day entirely. Right now, Will had bigger fish to fry, quite literally. “Alana, I gotta go. Fish ain’t gonna filet themselves,” he said as he watched the elegantly dressed man exit his car with a carry bag. 

Sometimes, he wondered if they were just throwing themselves at him. Maybe there was a sign on his forehead screaming a warning that would rival Dante’s caveat about Hell and it attracted the ones who wanted to die. Or liked a challenge. Will wondered which category Hannibal Lecter fell under and if he were truly worth the hunt to find out. 

========&=======

It was a gamble, that was for certain. Hannibal drove tout to Wolf Trap for a second time. This time, unannounced. He’d prepared an egg and ‘veal’ sausage scramble and packed it to stay piping hot. Hannibal wasn't sure if he would find Will at home, or even alone, but a week with no contact and the doctor felt compelled to see him. 

For all Hanibal knew, Will could be entertaining his next mate. 

The driveway only held the ancient Volvo, the early morning le=had left a sheen of dew over its blue shell. The front door opened quickly, just as Hannibal closed the passenger door, his carrier bag slung over his shoulder. Will Graham stood in his doorway, angry and clad only in his work clothes. 

“That’s too long a drive to tell me ‘you were just in the neighborhood and thought you would drop by’

Hannibal smiled and made his way up the porch steps. “Just so.” he hefted the bad and smiled. “I brought breakfast if you are amenable.”

Will folded his arms and leaned on the doorframe, blocking the dogs’ exit and Hannibal’s entrance./ “And, if I’m not?” 

Hannibal schooled his features but pressed forward. “It was too long of a drive to be just in the neighborhood, perhaps I thought we could cover some of those questions we haven't gotten to yet. 

Will didn’t move. “Without my solicitor? “ Will said. “How rude.”

“What’s to be done about that?” Hannibal smiled. “I did make quite the trek and trouble of preparing you a nice meal. Perhaps we could lay out some ground rules. No shop talk, as they say.”

Will sighed in resignation and moved aside as a flood of dogs emptied into the yard, each one tal=king a moment to sniff both Hannibal and the bag of possible treats. A quick noise from their master moved them along and out onto the lawn. 

Hannibal had always had a heightened sense of smell. It was one of the things that allowed others to make assumptions. As Hannibal entered the house behind Will he caught the essence of the man’s space: dogs, woods, fresh fish, and something else. Something that lay underneath that he could not put a name to. In the modern world of hidden agendas and masked genders, Hannibal had often been able to catch a whiff of secondary gender scents. This was what he scented now. 

Alpha.

Hannibal wondered if he had caught the man after a tryst, had interrupted Good Will’s Hunting, for he was certain, after their interactions at the opera two weeks before, that Will was hunting for a new mate or a new mark.

He followed the younger man through the entryway, into the living room and on through to the kitchen. Hannibal set the bag on the counter noting the fish that had just been cleaned. “Did you catch those yourself?” he asked as he bustled around the foreign kitchen, finding plates and forks in obvious places. Will’s house may have been cluttered, but it was well organized to nearly military perfection. 

Will nodded silently as he wrapped the fish and put it into the freezer. “Perch and Trout. Caught this morning, warly.” He gave Hannibal a side glare. “Was gonna have some for lunch before someone barged their way into my kitchen.”

Hannibal ignored the grumpy retort and set the food on the counter where two barstools sat. Trust me, you will like this,” he said. “Definitely worth the rude intrusion into your space. “

Will sat opposite Hannibal and took up his fork. “Can’t imagine anything worthy of that,” he said. But, his face changed as Will took his first bite. His eyes slipped closed and Will quickly stabbed another forkful like a man starved. “This is good,” he said into his third bite. Will gazed at Hannibal as he continued to chew, an odd look crossed his features. “This pork?” he asked. 

“Veal.” Hannibal lied. 

“Dodgy choice in meat, Doctor. Some people might be offended by being served veal.”

Hannibal took another intentional bite and wiped his mouth. “Some would,” he allowed. “But I didn't think you would mind.”

Will stabbed at a larger piece of meat and angled it to his lips. “I don’t,” he said, simply. “You are quite the cook. I would love to see what you could make with other meats.”

“High praise, indeed,” Hannibal said smiling around his own forkful. “I’m sure I could whip something up with pork if you are so inclined.” 

Will nodded and took the last bite from his plate. “I might be.” he nodded. “You got questions, let’s hear them.” He said with a wave of his hand. 

Hannibal finished his own meal and pushed the plate aside. He folded his hands in front of him and spoke. “Your first mate, you were out of town when he was murdered.”

Will’s face made a tight mask before his features softened. “I was. Out fishing. Like this morning.” He stood and began to clear the table. Hannibal would have preferred to watch Will’s features as he answered the questions, but tone of voice could say as much as facial tics. Will had a habit of rubbing his mating marks when he spoke of his former mates, as he was doing now in front of the ancient sink. 

“And the second one? Garret Jacob Hobbs, can you tell me what happened?”

A crash of dishes sounded as Will dropped the plates into the sink. “He died. He’s dead. What more do you need to know, Doc?”

Tone of voice, it always came to that. “I was wondering if you could go over with me what happened that day?”

Will dropped the silverware into the sink, loudly. “It's all in the reports, isn't it?” You shoulda read those before coming here. Before even coming up with those questions. ‘Sides, I already sang this song a hundred times. Not a new release.”

“I see,” Hannibal said. He knew he would have to bring these things up. Knew from the files that what was to come next might get him, at the very least, thrown out of the man’s house. “You have two daughters--”

Will turned fast then, and if rage had a color, it would be Will Graham. But instead of raising his voice as Hannibal had assumed, the younger man grew very quiet, spoke in even and measured tones. “They are not a topic for discussion,” he said. 

“I’d not bring them up, but I do have questions about --”

Will threw the rag he was holding onto the table and his face dangerously close to Hannibal’s Hannibal smelled again that whiff of Apoha, wondered if it was Mason Verger he was smelling. If so, the odor belied the man as he knew him. Mason Verger was more of a pig than those he slaughtered and fed to the masses. There was little chance a man like Verger would smell so….intoxicating. Will has another Alpha somewhere. Was the man escalating? “You’d better be real careful about the next question that barrels outta those lips, Doctor.” Will threatened. 

Hannibal did not move nor blink, “They were both born outside of the United States. Both while on vacation. Did you travel a lot with your mates? Did you prefer the health care systems of foreign countries?” It wasn't uncommon t=for the wealthy to travel even through pregnancies. One child being born overseas was an ofttimes occidental story about the dangers of overseas travel when one iis in a delicate condition. A funny story shared at gatherings and social get-togethers.

Twice is a choice.

Will shifted and raised from his hovering. “Meals over, time’s up. Been nice talking to you, Doc.” Will leaned back and allowed for Hannibal to stand and gather his things. “Don’t let the doorknob hit ya where the good lord split ya.” he said leading them back through the living room. 

“Thank you for speaking with me, again. I hope we can see each other again.” Hannibal noted as he stood at the door. “I do enjoy our talks.”

“Sure,” Will said with a sour note and a wry twist to his mouth. “Next time you can bring more veal.” With that, Will closed the door.

Hannibal knew something then, something that he could not prove but desperately needed to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations
> 
> Chat échaudé craint l’eau froide--Literally means "A scolded cat will fear cold water" But is essentially "once bitten twice shy"
> 
> Une fois mordu deux fois timide---Literally means once bitten twice shy
> 
> Dix fois sur le métier, remettre son ouvrage.--- It meanss "If at first you don't succeeed, try, try again.   
>  It also has a meaning of "Get back to your work, idiot." This one I had to look up because not only is my French rusty and dodgy at best, but I seem to recall a different proverb for this one. But most of my French, like Will's is Creole so there is that. Sorry if my spelling and grammar is offensive, but I am too lazy to spell check the French


	4. Chapter 4

He was so screwed.

Will wasn't certain how he ended up with a pet psychiatrist. But, in the grand scheme of things, his life being the main portion of that thing, his freedom being key to that life, he supposed it could be worse.

Maybe.

He watched as the good doctor’s expensive car backed out of the driveway and onto the road that leads off into the rest of civilization. Will wondered how much of their conversation would end up in the ear of that big Apha Crawford, the one who had started this whole thing in the first place. Crawford had wormed himself into the Tier family residence during the respite. Over the expensive champagne and mourning, sequestered around dozens of the elite of their crowd, Crawford had watched. Watched and waited. The spectre of his guilt wrapped in a mid priced overcoat and G-man level credentials. 

Will had been too busy playing the grieving mate to have a conversation with the man, but not too busy to watch himself. He saw Crawford make his rounds, assess and quantify all those players adjourned together. No, Crawford didn;’t make his questions official til after the funeral. But, not too long afterwards.

Once the car was out of sight, Will cracked open his door again and let the dogs back out, followed them down into the yard and out into the fields. Dr. Hannibal Lecter was looking for something, and Will wasn't sure if he was interested in letting him find it. Lecter reminded him too much of Garret; and not just because of his ability to choose prime meats. 

It was, in fact, that same love of prime cuts that left Will smiling in the late morning sunshine of that Spring day. He had a feeling it was that very love of the same kinda cuisine that would keep Mr. Crawford Eff-Bee-Eye as an uninformed onlooker in whatever it was that the good doctor had found out. Or, was playing at on his own time. 

Which, of course, led to further musings, what in the hell was Dr. Lecter playing at?

Fluffy and brindled Winston hung close to his side as the rest of his motley crew gamboled over the newly greening grasses of the early Spring. Will found his mind transversing years, peeling back into a time four years before when Garrett had been a hope for forgetting and before his second mate’s memory became a hope to forget. 

Garrett Jacob Hobbs came into his life after Pete had been in the ground long enough for the ink on Will’s final settlement from the Bernadones to nearly dry. He had stumbled onto this house then, had been living here with only three of the pack he now lived with. Garret’s family were desperate, and Will’s ‘fame’ for quiet servitude had preceded him. The family was wealthy, though Will never was able to ascertain how much of that wealth was earmarked for their only son. All of it, he imagined. Well, would have been if things hadn't ended so...messily. 

It wasn't hard to marry off your kids, not in the age of hidden secondary genders. But, Garret had neither wanted a mate nor did he have the prescribed accouterments for a firstborn son. But, Will had been willing, and Beau Graham had been ecstatic.

Will wasn't sure if his father realized how fucked up the whole situation had been, but Will was more than aware of how little the man sought out any contact with his own grandchildren. It wasn't family that his father was interested in, anyway. Well, not in that sense. 

Garrett had been the opposite of Pete. Where Pete was sweet and kind and yeah, maybe simpler than he could have been, he was still a motor mouth who only talked about animals and his love for Will. 

Hobbs, well Hobbs had a much darker side and only said more than two sentences strung together if there was need of it. Garrett wasn't prone to long diatribes of useless animal husbandry, and his only thoughts for animals usually came from the other end of his hunting rifle. Will had been on the other end of that rifle enough times to know how a wary animal would feel about it, and in those moments he would silently apologize to Pete for ever arguing with him about animal rights. 

Will smiled at the thought; some people really had that Freudian thing down about overcompensating and covering your perceived flaws with showy bravado. 

Garrett had taught him that money didn’t buy happiness, hell it couldn't even rent sanity. The Hobbs family all knew how crazy the man was, but did a lot of hiding to make sure no one else did. After all, if you can hide one thing about a person, the rest is easy enough covered in eccentricities and family vacations. Even after the bodies started trailing behind his wake. 

Dr. Lecter had a lot of that to him, and it made Will wonder about the nature of the man. He was a hunter as sure as Garrett was, there was no doubt in his mind what Lecter was, the only question, the same one that had plagued his mind on that first date with Garrett when the man had taken him on his family’s lands and taught him how to hunt; was it worth it? Curiosity killed many a cat, but only a few marched out of the other end of that old adage alive and safely on all four feet.

He’d swore to himself and his father that Randall had been the last of it, that the money wasn't worth the headache and stress. Plus, the little issue of the FBI crawling around his front door didn't help things none. But, Randall had nearly been too much for him to handle, and the Tier family were the least happy of those that he had been mated into. Mostly because Will hadn't given them the one thing they wanted that he had managed the first two times. That is, aside from ridding themselves of a problem that they themselves had given birth to. Will smiled at the fact that he had left them in far worse condition than when they had agreed to the arrangement. Served them right, letting that boy out and free in the world. Where Pete loved animals, Hobbs loved to hunt them, but Randall. Randall thought he was one. And, therein laid the issue from day one. 

He had dealt with Randall far longer than he should of had to. Had kept his girls away from the man. Randall knew of his daughters but had never met them. Both men had liked that arrangement just fine. Despite the wants of his family, and the reason for Will even being mated to him, Randall had no desire for children. Will didn't care, either way, he still got paid, though admittedly the payout would be far less in the end if there were no progeny from the union 

Will had no desire to keep at it. He had toyed with the idea of Mason Verger, mostly at the behest of his counsel, but Mason Verger had the wrong parts and definitely the wrong proclivities for him. Mason probably would have snapped him up fifteen years ago, but that wouldn't have gotten further than a motel room and Will in a social worker’s office drawing pictures of the incident for the court appointed guardian ad litem. 

But, he had to agree that Mason had to go, he just wasn't sure how to entice the man into play. It was out of his wheelhouse, and his toolbox was woefully bereft of what the idiot desired. Didn't change the fact that Margot needed an out. 

The trick of course, was doing it without getting his ass further under the investigatory microscopes. Didn't help either that Dr. Lecter had seen him at the opera. He had gone with Mason, had taken a break from the man to sidle up to the bar and find some of that liquid courage to withstand finishing the evening without killing the Alpha in front of all and sundry. Oh, he knew Mason was Alpha, the man flaunted his secondary gender like a Jolly G=Roger flag on a pirate ship hell bent on mass extinction. But, that was only a slice of the issue, though admittedly the biggest slice. 

Dr. Lecter seeing him around Mason wouldn't help his assertion of innocence should Verger find himself in the same situation as a few of his mates. Course his lawyer being the sister could also skew that one too. He should have insisted on Margot staying out of it, shoulda kept her on her farm and far out of consideration. Too late now, and the worry of having to leave her in that situation longer made the hairs on the back of his neck raise. 

But, there were other options, there always were. You could catch catfish with different kinds of bait. Course, some worked better than others, but that just made the victory worth the fight at the end of the pole. 

Hannibal Lecter was showy, same as Garrett, but not as wealthy as his family had been. Not that it mattered to him, but Beau Graham may have a thing or two to say about that when the dividend check comes round to be parsed out. 

Will sighed again, picked up a stick his booted foot had stepped on and watched the flurry of fur run after it. This is where he was happiest, his days of accountability to family or work were over. He didn't have to do anything he didn't want to do.

Except avoid getting arrested. That was definitely top of his list. 

Will Graham found himself with three dead mates, two young daughters, living alone with a lot of time on his hands. These were not incongruent to living, but the boredom of it all was sure to drive him battier than a March hare. 

He missed Pete. Missed his laugh and his anger every time Will headed out to go fishing. Pete had been a rabid vegan ever since he woke up from the head injury. Refused to eat anything that had once had a pulse nor anything that had been, as he called it, inhumanely vanquished from something that didn't give its explicit consent. Will used to slip out from the large family mansion, swearing off for one of those conferences that he no longer attended, or a trip to see his Sire. He hated lying to the man, but Pete wasn't as stable as he would have liked, and Will saw no reason to get him riled up. Bertie kept him plenty busy while Will went out once a month and took himself fishing.

He wished he hadn't of taken that last trip through. If he had known that it would be the last time he would see his mate, he woulda stayed home. Or, at the very least, fate being what it is and all, he woulda kissed him more that last day, woulda treasured that last meal of mock tuna salad on expensive vegan crackers. He would not have complained again about feeding Bertie a vegan diet, that she should make that choice herself. He would have made that last day together count for everything. 

There was one thing, though. Well, maybe the two things.

Aside from figuring out how to relieve Magot Verger of her main source of woe, which admittedly would take some thought and careful tap-dancing on his part, was the other thing that had been dropped into his lap. The same thing that had led him out for a walk in the woods to remind himself of that tranquil safe boat on the water. 

Dr. Hannibal Lecter. 

He knew he had to shake the man loose one way or the other. Either shake him off his trail or put a line out into the water. Will was a good fisherman, he just had to find the right lure. 

========&=======

Hannibal Lecter was not known for his impatience. At least, not to the outside world. He had a carefully crafted persona constructed out of necessity. Hannibal had learned early on, before the loss of his family, that the things expected of others would be, by the sheer nature of his birth, not expected of him. Lithuania was not as forward-thinking as the western world in that time when he was young; before the Soviet armies came marching with death and destruction on their heels. It was long before the advent of hormone therapies, expectations of Alphas and omegas were solidified in that old calcified regime. 

His parents had been the standard; and Alpha and an Omega from old aristocracy. They fit into their roles like a well worn and favored pair of walking shoes. Though very much in love, his Alpha mother had inherited the titles and status that his omegan father had only acquired after his marriage. It was typical of the time, and even now there was a preference of inheritance going to the eldest Alpha in the family. In the US, it wasn’t a law that entitled the Alpha in the family to gain the most in wealthy families, but it was the standard. 

His sister would have been Alpha, he was certain of it, and even her shade of memory in the context of his thoughts made the inhumanly stoic man twinge at her loss. He still felt that emptiness for her, fair-haired and headstrong. Hannibal often found himself imagining her ghost as a fully grown adult. She wandered through the halls of his memory palace, a construction of want so bare and raw that it often took his breath away. WIll had that effect on him as well, but Hannibal knew he would have to control himself, would have to tread lightly with a man clearly so devoid of sanity that even Alana Bloom was wary. 

It was Alana’s angry phone call not long after his impromptu visit that he considered in front of the fire. His phone had buzzed incessantly until he’d parked in his own garage that afternoon after leaving Will’s. Her usually chipper tone with him had fallen off like scales from one of Will’s recent catches. 

“Leave him alone, Hannibal.” Alana had demanded by way of greeting when he was finally able to answer his phone in the living room of his home. “He’s been through enough.”

Her platitudes aside, Hannibal had no intention of giving up a new toy, not when he finally found one he was so excited about cracking open and seeing how it worked.

Hannibal had sighed and let the call end. His thoughts played through again the actions of his last visit to Will; the meal, the reaction the man had had to his offering he had brought him. 

The Alpha he had scented. 

Jealousy was something Hannibal had rarely felt, had no need of it. As he sat in his leather armchair in his study contemplating, he wondered again who Will was angling for now. Hannibal had asked around, as discreetly as possible and under the guise of his FBI temporary credentials. His circle of acquaintances among Baltimore’s finer families were often prone to gossip, though none were privy to anyone on Will’s radar beyond the Vergers. They did, however, all hold opinions as to the sanity of the Vergers and their associations with such a nefarious, though admittedly intelligent and accomplished, young man. 

Hannibal had been doing his own research; followed his own paths that lead through Will’s sordid little past. Outside of the FBI and away from the prying eyes of Jack Crawford, who, though righteously entitled to catch a killer, had no jurisdiction when it came to the equally righteous Will Graham. Will, Hannibal was certain, was prone to righteous anger, rage that those crime scenes had offered were nothing so=hort of a wild animal set loose on a lesser creature. Will Graham had more than likely done what he had to to keep himself and his children safe. It was why he would have had his children overseas; Alphas who were already prone to violence, could be dangerous to weak newborns. Will would have had his daughters as far away from them as he felt he needed. 

And killed when that safety was perceived to be compromised. 

Garrett Jacob Hobbs was no saint, and neither was Randall Tier. Both men had met their end in a similar vein to how they lived, on the edge of sanity and propriety. Both had been viciously beaten and torn to shreds with what could be bare hands. It was unusual for an omega to be so virulent in their ruination. If Will had killed those two, he had done so on the level few had seen from an omega, and Hannibal found the idea of a kindred spirit to be more than he had ever hoped for. 

Except, Will was on the hunt again, and that just would not do. 

No matter how high that Intelligence Quotient was measured on Will Graham, eventually, his running days would have to come to an end. And, as smart as he was, Hannibal had to assume Will was aware of the clock ticking on his mayhem. Was he escalating? Trying to get one last mate and murder in before the found himself incarcerated? Was he able to reign in his murderous rage and turn his anger to those he was not mated to?

Will’s intelligence was well masked but still bubbled to the surface if anyone held a conversation with him longer than two minutes. He was, as the saying would say, a catch. It was no surprise to him that Will had managed to garner the attention of f three mates. Even given the poor departed Peter Bernadone, it was clear that Will had used his omega wiles to his own benefit, though Hannibal had to admit that the younger man did not live in a manner that someone would with the assumed settlements those matings would have given. 

Mason Verger was probably the only wealthy person insane enough to be enticed into Will’s web now. Though Hannibal was certain Will was far past the age of Verger’s interest. He was, however, fertile and clearly able to withstand a fair amount of abuse. A better man would make a phone call to warn the pig farmer and let him know he was being courted by a man still in the crosshairs of an FBI investigation. Would warn him off pursuing any type of relationship with the unstable genius.

A better man would, of course, and when he found that better man, perhaps Hannibal would put him up to the challenge. However, Hannibal found himself curious to see what would happen.

It was, of course, the deaths that seemed to follow him around that tended to raise one’s hackles and run screaming in the opposite direction. Will Graham was slowly running out of options, or field of prey. It would soon be time for him to exit the game permanently, one way or another. 

XXXXXXXXX

He would have to get things in motion, prepare the game, set the parameters. Get the opponent turned into a mark as quick as he could, and have a clear channel of exit. Will had travelled, his passport was clear and valid. He knew he would have to close off all ties; his girls included. But he only saw them in sparse measures as it was, and never together. It was part of the deal and Will had been fine with that. 

Had been. 

Will had always known that family wasn't for him. He loved his girls and missed them every day. But the reality of his life and where fate had led him was never gonna allow for him to have a normal life. He could, however, leave and melt into oblivion. Eventually, the investigation would simmer down and Will would be forgotten as nothing more than an interesting unsolved mysteries podcast. 

Will had no worries that, given the wealth their families held, his girls would be fine. His being as far from thema as possible could only aid in their growing up. Crawford and the FBI would eventually move on to better targets, but there was something about Hannibal Lecter that would lead the man to follow him to all ends of the world. Getting him shook off and helping Margot were now the same deck of cards. 

No, the die was cast, and it was time to put the pieces on the board. Choices made, no turning back now. 

Will sent the gift as a means of testing the waters. An afterthought he had come to as he sat at his work table. The peacock feather he had found on the grounds of the Tier estate two years before had been saved for a special occasion. But, when he had come across it as he pulled through his tackle box of miscellaneous odds and ends, it reminded him of the good doctor. He smiled and took a deep breath as he tied it into an intricate lure, fastened a bird's skull along for good measure. 

Death and beauty, that was Hannibal Lecter in short order. 

=======&=======

He twirled the lure between elegant and skilled fingers. The envelope had been left on his doorstep, a courier more than likely while he was at his office. There was no note, no acknowledgement of a gift given, but it was clear who had sent the trinket. The beautiful peacock feather held as much symbology as Hannibal knew Will intended. Along with it being a lure in itself. If Will Graham intended to chase after him, he was in for quite the surprise himself, indeed. 

Careful, Will. People might think we are counting.

He sent an invitation on his finest linen paper and in his scrawling but best copper plate, it was time Will Graham sat at his table.

It was, after all, the least he could do for such a fine gift.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The house was about what he expected for someone like Lecter. It was large and foreboding set on the street like a castle of old. The neighborhood had finer houses, to be sure, but Lecter’s house was clearly a masterwork of old; the man had kept many of the gothic fixtures that were so prevalent in the time of its construction. Will hefted the bottle of two hundred year old scotch and rang the bell. He was surprised that Lecter opened the door himself, half expected some doddering old butler to let him in. Will supposed if you lived a life like the doctor’s, you would probably want to keep as many people out of your business as possible. Even if that meant washing your own socks and cleaning your own toilets. 

“Evening,” Will said and presented the bottle.

Hannibal seemed surprised at the gift. He smiled but it didn’t quite reach the rest of his face. “That is quite the vintage, Will.” 

“Figured I would need something a bit strong tonight. Maybe we both will.” Will said.

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Hannibal said. “It’ll serve us well after dinner in the study.”

It was Will’s turn to follow Hannibal into his lair, and Will took note of the decorations and trappings of a gothically trussed up family crypt. He wondered how long it had taken the man to raid all those European tombs to outstrip a house into what looked like the Adams Family summer home. “Nice place,” Will said instead as Hannibal helped him off with his coat. Will had made sure to dress in what the doctor would expect him to; nice but not too nice. He had been going for soft, pliant even. Will didn't pretend to know fashion, but he had enough money and good sense to know one shouldn't show up to the lake and not have the right tackle on hand. 

“Thank you,” Hannibal said with all the modesty of a peacock in season. “I’m so glad you agreed to my invitation.”

Will nodded, “As long as we keep all this off the record,” he said. “And in private.” He gave a little coquettish dip of his eyelashes. That had often worked on Garrett, some men liked the idea of power and submission. Will had no doubts that was part of Hannibal’s make up, he liked the power, but wondered what was hiding at the other end of this man’s rifle?

Hannibal returned his nod and led Will into the dining room. While the cobalt blue wasn't something he would have chose, he had to admit that the herbs lining the wall did give the room a feeling of lushness and scented the air as a precursor of the meal to follow. The stage was set, the lines were learned, and the players were to be served piping hot.

========&=======

To say he was delighted to see Will at his table, willingly, was an understated truth as undeniably lacking in breadth of feeling as calling the Crusades a church revival. Hannibal placed the first course in front of the man seated across from him at the more intimately dropped leaves of his usually ostentatious serving area. Will held his fork and knife as he considered the leafy salad with peaches and braised walnuts. “No meat?” he asked with a wry twist of his pert lips.

Hannibal took his own seat and fitted his napkin over his lap. “First course, Will. We must work our way up to greatness.”

Will took great care in assembling a forkful of the salad and took a bite. “Pretty great already. Can't wait to see how far into greatness you willing to fly, Dr. Lecter.”

“Hannibal,” he said. “You are seated at my table as a guest and a friend. I insist we break down all barriers.”

Will took another bite. “Does that include truths?” Will asked. 

Hannibal chewed silently, studied the man seated across from him. “What truths would those be, Will?” he finally said after the quiet of the room had seeped into the folds of the conversation.

“What I mean to say, Hannibal.” Will said his name with an emphasis that was bordering on mockery. He decided to let it go, for now. “Is that we sit here on equal footing and play a little game my friends used to call truth or dare. “

“We are a bit old for games, though I may have an empty bottle or two laying about. Or perhaps, might I suggest my coat closet and set the egg timer for seven minutes?”

Will leaned forward over his empty plate. Hannibal made a move to rise and bring the next course. “Whatever you think is best for truth telling, I’m game. Tit for tat. “

Hannibal leaned forward in his own seat, mimicking Will’s ardour, the younger man’s hand resting firmly on his forearm. He wondered if the minute flex of Will’s hand was subconscious. He doubted it was. “Quid Pro Quo?” he said. 

Will leaned back, removed his hand and folded them neatly, almost primly. “Now you’re gettin’ it.” he smiled. “Show me yours, Hannibal, and I’ll show you mine.”


	5. Chapter 5

Hannibal eyed the man in front of him, wondering what game was being played and if he would allow for the Omega to survive it. Will sat with such confidence across from him as if he was certain that Hannibal would whip off his person suit and display all.  
Hardly.

“What’s there to hide, Hannibal?” he asked. “And anyway, what’s the point? You think I can’t tell? You think you the first person laid out in front of me tryin’ to be something you are most definitely not.” He let go of Hannibal’s wrist and sat back. “Go on, go get that next course. We got all night an a full bottle of Glenfiddich to get through.” Will took another sip of his wine as Hannibal backed his way out of the dining room and to the kitchen.

Hannibal stood then, took the first course’s plates out into the sink and took deep breaths. He was not accustomed to feeling the tilt and speed of a hurdling earth. 

And yet. 

This man, this omega had set him off-kilter and had made him as unsteady as he had ever felt, or wanted to feel. He had nothing against genders, they served their purpose in the grander scheme of procreation. Will himself was proof of that. But, Hannibal had not let that get in the way of exploring pleasures in life. He’d been with every conceivable combination, he’d also been with those who did not want to be who they were. Hannibal didn’t mind, pleasure was pleasure and one should always take advantage of all the beauties of life. 

As he prepared the cheese for the second course to arrive fresh to the table, He took great pride in the idea that he was feeding Will, that Will would gain nourishment from what came from his hands, his kitchen.

He took a deep breath, picked up both prepared plates, and made his way back into the lion’s den.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Will found he liked watching the older man leave, even if he refused to turn his back on him. Like a cat in a room full of hounds, Hannibal had been off his feet a bit.

Will liked the look of that, too. 

There was a standoff; of eyes and facial expressions. Of hands clenched in motion for want of something to do, to defend. Hannibal finally moved the first course off into the kitchen and magicked the second before each setting. “What’s this?” Will asked. “Veal again?”

It was. As Hannibal explained, another feast for the eyes and the palette. Will enjoyed the show, he was used to being cared for, though admittedly this express feature of life had come in the past five years, and generally at the hands of his mates. 

His mates.

“Not veal.” Hannibal said, "pork.”

Will took a bite of the meat. “Garrett liked pork like this too,” he said around his fork.

“Oh?” Hannibal replied tucking into his own meal. “Did he like to cook as well?”

“Sometimes,” Will admitted, taking another large bite of the meat. “Especially when it was something he caught himself.”

Hannibal grinned that sharks smile again. “Ah, yes. The family was all of that ilk.” he said.

“Mostly. But, Garrett was unique.” That was an understatement.

“I’m sure his loss affected you.” Hannibal said, and Will wondered how much of his dismissal was a deflection. Will didn’t agree to a polite meal. “How does that make you feel?

“You do that a lot, Dr. Lecter.” Will used his profession to pluck at the man’s obfuscation. He may not know all about Hannibal and his ways, but he knew enough. “Hide when I get too close to a subject. What’s so wrong about full disclosure? I’m telling you things about my life, but you dismiss or deflect.” He watched Hannibal stand and clear away the entree. “I’m trying to get to know you, this isn't a therapy session.”

Hannibal didn't answer, instead he nodded and made for the sanctum of his kitchen. Will felt like he did the first time he’s gone college. His first class, much younger than everyone else but full aware he could out-think most of them. Hannibal was like that, he relied on his own cunning far too much.

As Hannibal brought around the final course, a cream-filled delicacy wrapped in fragile-looking shells and plumped full of something creamy and decadent. He had known Hannibal was a good cook and now he knew something else. Something important.

“Are you suggesting,” Hannibal began as he scooped thick, sweet cream onto his spoon, daintily even, “that we reveal who we are?”

Will shoved his plate to the side and flexed his hands into fists. “I am suggesting,” he said, “that you are quite adept at hiding who you really are.” He stood and reached for the remaining plates on the table. Hannibal looked mildly put out at the gesture but did not stop the younger man. 

“You think we should know each other. Hannibal said, rising to assist Will in his task.

Will followed the natural plan of the house into the gourmet kitchen, which reminded him of the Hobbs’s house in a lot of ways. So much about this was screaming Hobbs that Will could not discount his instincts. He already knew who Hannibal was, he just wanted the man to drop the pretense. He whistled low at the expanse of the grand kitchen and followed the doctor to the sink. “Impressive, Doc.”

Hannibal ducked his head and smiled as he began to rinse the dishes and handed them off to Will to place in the dishwasher. “Thank you “

“You sure are a fine cook, you spend a lot of time cooking for other people. You cook for yourself like that?”

“Of course,” The man replied. “I am very careful about what I allow into my body.”

I’m sure you are, Will thought to himself as they continued the dance of domesticity. “You cook for yourself, but how come you never let others cook for you?”

Hannibal ducked his head and smiled, “I have a hard time trusting others and what they would prepare. I’ve come so accustomed to the finery that I layout, it's hard to accept possible greatness in others.”

Control freak. Typical behavior. Peter had been that way too, had insisted on the house being run to his standards. It was the reason Will had gone without red meat for over two years and had to fry his fish in the camp when he would sneak off for his trips to the river not far from the Bernadone estate. Garrett had been much worse. So much worse. 

Will held the final plate in his hands as he watched Hannibal move around the kitchen in the throes of tidying. “How come you never mated, Hannibal?” he asked finally, shutting the door of the dishwasher.

“Mating implies that I have a secondary gender, Will,” Hannibal said. 

Will smiled as the thrum of the dishwasher hummed around his words. Don’t you?’ 

“I’m certain that Mason Verger has one.”

Will smiled at the small jealousy. The fish was fighting the line but wasn't tugging too hard. He could land a bass with a long stick if he had to. “Well,” he said, ”Mason Verger definitely ain’t no Beta. Everyone knows that. Not like he ain’t out and about wafting his scent for all to smell.” It was true, the man reminded Will of a grizzly bear hell-bent on rubbing his Alpha scent over everything that doesn’t move and most of what did. “You avoiding my question, Hannibal.” he accused. “But that’s all right. I realize I might be getting personal. Can't help it” he shrugged and spread his hands out in supplication. “It's my nature. I ask a lot of questions. Get downright pushy when I want an answer.” 

“Some would call it rude,” Hannibal slid the towel over the stainless steel of the kitchen counters, moving as graceful as the water cranes Will would sometimes watch on the Bayou. 

“I s’pose.” he shrugged again, trying to brush off the feeling that Hannibal was finding him a rude guest. His father would be appalled at his sudden lack of manners. He’d purposely turned up the down-home accent, realizing that his swallowed vowels and rounded off syllables were well received by Hannibal. The man seemed to answer his clipped bitten off speech with a softer tone. Will liked that, meant the fish might bite, still.

“You’ve already had three mates, Will. Why are you searching for number four?” Hannibal asked, not meeting his eyes. “Some would call that greedy.”

“Some,” Will admitted, “but hope springs eternal, doesn't it?” Will crossed his arms and leaned against the counter, watched the older man in his fastidious pursuit. He had a fleeting thought to grab a broom and help him finish his tasks, but Will didn't think that would suit the doctor. Hannibal seemed a man set in his ways, and that included how he finished off his cleaning. Typical of his gender. Garrett and Randall had been the same, but if you pointed it out to either of them, they woulda likely had pushed until you took it back. 

Will doubted Hannibal would push. Will imagined that Hannibal would shove. 

“I suppose it does.” Hannibal shrugged shyly as he finished wiping down the counters. “I’ve never found anyone I’ve wanted to share my life with,” he said simply. “I’m typically very busy and I have a full schedule of hobbies,” Wil noted silently that he still had not answered the question, but Will knew. He knew well enough having had three mates and his ever prescient ability to read a person. One can fight their own nature, but that persona always bubbled up to the surface like fish from a river pelted with dynamite. 

Will came to stand in front of the counter Hannibal was currently putting away the rest of the kitchen intently. “Oh, I get the hobbies part. Few people you come ‘cross would share that particular set of skills.” He grinned. “In fact, I would imagine that you are quite individual in your hobbies..”

Hannibal smiled but the gesture did not reach his maroon eyes. Easy, boy. Will thought He might fight the tug. “I do enjoy my distractions.” Hannibal poured the scotch into two tumblers that looked to be fine crystal. “Shall we?” the older man asked with a tilt of his head.

Will accepted the glass of scotch he’d brought and allowed Hannibal to lead him through the fine house into the large but cozy study. The large room smelled of old leather and some mysterious spice. Old rugs spilled across the hardwood floors, beautiful tortured things of nefarious but ancient histories. Books crept up the walls to almost infinity, old tomes that Will was certain had been well-read and loved by their owner. Hannibal did enjoy his distractions, and Will found himself wanting to run his fingers along each one; to pull out each volume and consume. 

Two leather chairs sat in front of the already roaring fireplace and Hannibal gestured to Will to accept a seat by the fire. “You want to get to know me,” Hannibal said as he ensconced his long frame into his chair.

“I’d like to.” Will agreed. “And, I think you’d like the same.”

Instead of a verbal answer, Hannibal took a sip of his own tumbler of scotch. Will could nearly smell the wheels turning in the man’s head. “When I was little, my Sire and I used to travel all over the South.” Will figured a little talking could grease those h=wheels he could now smell and hear whirling around. He wondered how many the man had turning at once, and then wondered why he cared to know. “From the shipyards of Biloxi all the way to Lake Erie.” He took another pull of his scotch. 

Hannibal’s silence was broken by his sudden interest. Sometimes, you gotta change the hook to get a fish’s attention. “You moved around quite a bit.,” he said. 

Will nodded, “wasn’t easy when I was younger and they found I was more advanced.” Will smiled then, “Wasn’t until I landed myself a two-year accelerated stay at Tulane that I managed to plant my feet somewhere longer than six months. Lots of different schools, up until I turned 12.”

“Always the new kid,” Hannibal said.

Will drew a deep breath, “I was always the new kid, yeah. But, I was also always the smartest.” Will waved his tumbler around the book walled room. “I’m sure you would know a little something about that.” 

“I may,” Hannibal agreed and poured another round for the two. 

Will went on, knowing he had the man’s full attention now. Always good to treat a chicken real nice before you gotta make Sunday dinner. “We are a lot alike, you and I,” he said.

The firelight caught something in the doctor’s maroon glare when he turned those murder lamps Will’s way. Their eyes met and an understanding between them floated lit and rolled into a solid thing between them. 

“If you think on it hard enough, Hannibal, you’d see that,” he said finally.

“And, to what end, might I ask?” 

“You have a lot of hobbies, Hannibal. Distractions as you called them. I know about distractions. Mates, kids, but I get lonely still. Don't you get lonely? I think you do.” Will said. “I think we definitely have that in common.”

Hannibal refilled both of their tumblers and settled back into his chair. “You are assuming a lot, dear Will,” he said. “I have surrounded myself with enough of my own decisions and actions to not be hamstrung by society’s expectations.”

Will sipped his refilled glass. “You feel hamstrung by your own nature? Your own secondary urges?” 

Will noticed Hannibal grasp onto his glass a bit tighter, his face a microexpression of something that Will had been waiting to see emerge from the typically stoic man. “I have never been a slave to any urges, Will. But, clearly, you are.”

“I might have been. Might be still. I’m a product of my upbringin’, just like any of us are. “ Will tossed back the last of his second helping and reached out for Hannibal to fill a third. “ We can run from our own natures, Hannibal, but eventually the devil needs his due. Eventually, it all catches up to a person. A body starts to feel the stirrings of that need, starts to ache and twist, no matter how many hormones coursing through him.”

Hannibal smiled. “You have a past that is littered with the concept of trial and error. You haven't had much luck in the past. What makes you think another mate would end any differently?”

“You psychoanalyzing for free now, Doc?” Will asked, but stopped at Hannibal’s flat look. “I ain’t saying I have had an easy time of it. But, I choose to not live in the past, Hannibal. I’m certain there’s shit you dealt with that ain’t turned out the way you’d a liked. “

Another controlled look paused over the man’s features fleetingly, Will smiled at the taunt, knowing he was prying open a man who had planned this to go quite another way, entirely. “Perhaps.:” was all he would acquiesce to, but Will didn't need any more words. Hannibal’s reaction spoke more than his cultured voice ever could have. 

He leaned forward then, encroached into the space between them in front of the fire. “I can help you out, Hannibal,” Will said in a thick whisper as if there were another in the room. “I know what it's like, hiding who you are. “ Hannibal moved minutely, matching Will’s movement. The space between them was volatile, sucked free of any air. He imagined kissing the man as he had planned specifically not to. Best to leave the fish hungry, he’d catch onto the lure firmer that way.

An uncharacteristic hitch in his voice, Hannibal spoke, “I’m certain Mason Verger would be far more suited to your needs.” 

A smile crackled across the younger man’s lips. It was the second time that the good doctor had evoked the name that night. IIf Will didn't know better, he would think that Mason was his own competition, instead of the other way around. But jealousy? Petty jealousy. Will knew he could work with that. Could work for him in the long run. “Awwww, you don't need to worry ‘bout lil ole Mason.” Will allowed the Bayou to overtake his words. “‘Sides, I’m a little too old to take that chocolate.”

Will felt the pull of the man’s skin, wanted to feel the firelight as it danced over the long lean form. Hannibal had left his sleeves rolled up after doing dishes and his forearms were causing all manner of thoughts to dance through his head. He knew he would have to get himself under better control and quick.

But, he wanted.

Despite his better judgments, Will felt himself leaning in further, broaching that chasm of stolen air between them. Will inched forward as Hannibal moved in his quiet but small pace, he could feel the breath of the man in front of him. 

He leaned in further, but the tone of his phone stopped him. Will pulled his device from his pocket and smiled. “My ride’s here.” He drained his fourth tumbler, set it down on the table between them and made his way back through the house. 

He hadn't had the chance to give his gift to Hannibal, too much whiskey and talk. Instead, he left the small box on the counter of the immaculate kitchen and dipped back through to the front door. 

========&=======

Hannibal Lecter was certain that Will Graham was to be the death of him. 

Hannibal sat back in his chair, rudely leaving his guest to make his own way out of the house. Will was a force of nature, a wild and tempestuous storm that would leave ships broken and bent, whole towns overturned and laid to waste. He was never a man to feel out of his depth, but this. This was something different. 

Will had spoken of biological urges, and Hannibal was, not for the first time, thankful for the influx of hormonal therapies. He didn't have to worry about losing control, most didn’t now. 

But, a small and unwanted part of himself wanted that loss of control a=t the hand of the man who had just stormed through his life like a 

What he needed was one of those distractions he had professed to his dinner guest. What he needed was a good hunt. 

Having found the motivation to remove himself from the seat in front of the fire, Hannibal made his way to his kitchen. If he could not find solace in his own thoughts, perhaps the distraction of his favorite hobby would offer him a balm to his frazzled nature. Lights flared above the stainless steel countertops and Hannibal found the small box on the space next to his Rolodex and recipe card box. 

A small plain box, the kind one would receive in fifth grade with a dime-store trinket housed within its cheap structure. A silver string held the top affixed onto the square. Hannibal held the small box in his hand, certain where the item had come from. He imagined Will detouring into his kitchen on his way out of the house. 

Hunt stalled, Hannibal felt the weight of the item in his hand, he slipped the string and opened the top. 

Nestled within the cheap box was an exquisite and unusual bit of amber. Hannibal held the semi-precious stone up to the light and squinted for a better view.

The eight-legged creature at the center of the once molten rock was more on the nose than Hannibal would have liked, though coming from the plain speaking man he had shared the evening with,Hannibal was not surprised at the straightforward statement. It held there, frozen in time and transversed the distance of eternity to be a nefarious, if appropriate courting gift. Or a warning. Hannibal could not be sure which, but he did know that the intention didn't matter so much as the message. 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Matthew Brown had worked for the Bernadone family for years as their all-around personal attendant. Then, after Peter’s accident, the Beta had become Peter’s personal assistant, then after they married, he had become Will’s friend. Will appreciated Matt’s pragmatism and his inherent ability to stay chill when shit went left. Matthew had the ability to convey a full picture with as few words as possible. He wasn’t much older than Peter but held a maturity that often settled the traumatized man faster than Will ever could have. The former Marine had a quiet nature that hid his power, Matthew was a firm believer in never let them see you comin’.

When Peter died, it had been Matthew who kept him from losing it. Matthew had chosen to follow him to the Hobbs’ as his personal assistant, then on to the Tiers. Matthew was as reliable as 20-pound test, and Will knew he would always watch his back and keep his counsel. 

Matt was seated in Will’s Volvo when he emerged from Hannibal’s house. “Evening, Sir.” the man said as Will opened the car door.

Will slid into the passenger side of his own car, he never asked how Matthew moved around and never wanted to know. Matthew had his ways, and had, time and again, proven those ways were loyal to Will. “Right on time, Matt. Any longer could have been a problem.”

Matt eased the car out of the driveway and out onto the sleek roads that meandered through the wealthier parts of Baltimore. “Were there any problems, Sir?” He wished Matt would drop the Sir, but the older man had insisted that, as long as he was on payroll, they would keep it as professional as possible. 

“Mighta been,” Will admitted. At Matt’s quick glower, Will raised his hand to quell the obvious concern. “I got it managed, Matt.”

“Like you had Garret managed?” Matt said and Will knew, had he not been three sheets into a good drunk from the scotch, Matt would’ve heard all about how much he had managed Garrett. “Don’t fret over it, Matt. Hannibal Lecter ain’t Hobbs or Randall for that matter.” Will said as he slipped further into the seat with a sigh. “Dr. Hannibal Lecter ain’t gonna be no trouble at all. I’ll fix him.”

“Of course, Sir,” Matthew said as the roads turned into highway. “Just be careful Mr. Graham, please. Tier was a close call.”

Will allowed a faint smile at the memory. “The closest.” he agreed. He only wished he could explain to his friend how much more of a threat this Hannibal Lecter truly was. Where Randall and Garrett were as unstable as the rest of the world seemed to think he was, Hannibal Lecter was as solid and methodical and sure of mind as a reformed preacher after Sunday Revival. “But, Hannibal ain’t squirrelly, nor does he fancy himself a squirrel.”

“Bear and wolf, Sir.” Matt corrected without humor as if Will wasn't there. As if Will hadn't a single memory of that last night in the woods near the Tier lands. 

“Right,” was all he answered, sudden exhaustion freezing his arguments and bones alike. “Just, don't worry. Hannibal ain’t that kind of problem.” No, Hannibal was an all new classification of problem that, given the current environment and the fact that his freedom was in serious debate, Will could not afford it. But, he had promised Margot, and he knew she needed the help. 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

It was days later that Margot got a hold of him while he was walking the fields with the dogs. She wasn’t calling in her capacity as his legal counsel. “Will, I need to know if we are still on.”

He knew avoiding her could only go so far. But, a promise was a promise. “I gotta line on something, Margot. “ he said in the early evening fog that hovered around Virginia. “It's an iron put in the fire, might take a bit of time to heat up proper.”

The other side of the call grew silent; then he heard whispering, the sound of another woman saying something to Margot. Will had a good idea who it was. “Everything all right, Margot?”

“No,” she said simply. “Everything is not all right, Will. The situation has changed, and if my brother finds out, all hell is gonna break loose. That iron you got heating up isn’t gonna fire fast enough to keep Mason from losing his shit. I might have to leave town, if I can manage it. I know that would leave you in the lurch, but I can’t take any chances now. It's not just me any more. There is no telling what Mason would do if he figured out I could have a way to get what’s mine.”

“What’s happened?” he asked, but really he didn't want to know. He wanted this thing done and over with, wanted to be off in the woods of Bavaria or the forests of Endor. Hell, he wanted to be able to wade into the quiet of the stream near his house. Anywhere but where he had to listen to another story of what Mason has done. 

The whispering was back, the voice on the other end was no longer Margot’s “Will,” Alana said. “Margot’s pregnant.”

Yeah, he had wondered how long it would be before that happened. “Alana, I’m working on it. I can't go in there and do anything. You of all people know how the FBI is breathing down my backside.”

She covered her sob with a sigh. “I know,” she said. “But we don't have a lot of time.”

He sighed, realizing he would have to kick all this up a notch, turn the music to 33rpm and dance a little faster. “Two weeks, Alana, can we get that?”

She let loose another sigh, but this time her voice sounded a little stronger. “Yeah, yeah I think we can hold it off and stay away from Cordell for a bit longer.”

Will hated this part, hated having to tell two people who were obviously in love that they had to stay away from each other. “Alana, you know you have to keep a distance, right?”

“Will, she needs me right now.” 

Yeah, Will thought, and I’m the one that you think is unstable. It was his turn to sigh. “I know that, Sweet Pea.”

“I hate when you call me that.” she said, but her tone was lighter now, he knew he could get her mellowed down. “But, all right, Will. I’m gonna trust your expertise on this one.”

“Careful now, Alana, you work for the FBI. You talkin’ a lot like entrapment.”

She actually giggled then. “Just, whatever you got planned, whatever balls you got up in the air need to be amassed, Will. Shit has gotten real.”

Indeed it had. He ended the call, and with a final resignation he made another call, Freddie Lounds had her uses, and this was only one part in a long string of uses that she owed him.

The redhead answered on the first ring. “Hey, Red.” Will said as light as he could be. “I might have a story for you. Interested?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -20 pound test is fishing line. You usually use it for heavier fish, just don't try to use a stronger weight test on a lighter weight pole.


	6. Chapter 6

“Not to smack gum and crack wise, but why do you need this?” The redhead had made herself comfortable in one of the mismatched chairs in Will’s living room. It was the only safe space he could think of to have this kind of talk with Freddie.

Will offered his best smile to the Alpha woman, it was demure and sweet; an affectation one would expect offered from an Omega in need. “It's personal, Freddie. He--”

Freddie leaned in closer, he had her full attention with his tremulous voice and his eyes held the expectation of tears. “He, who?” She knew, but Will was certain she was recording and wanted it all on tape. Even if this kind of story wasn't her usual fare, the woman was not averse to a byline anywhere; even if it was in the society pages.

Will hunched forward and allowed his head to fall into his hands, recalling the wild look that had so often kept Garrett at bay. “He made promises, said we would be forever.” A strangled gasp was as close as Will could allow himself to get to a sob in good conscience. No sense in going through the drive-thru when supper was already on the table and piping hot.

If she was concerned by the display of emotions from the man seated next to her, Freddie didn't show it. Instead, she began writing on her pad of paper. “Can you tell me what happened?” she asked as if they hadn't known each other for years, removed from the story almost like a real journalist. But, both of them knew there was e=veruy little that was real about Freddie’s journalism creds, nor the story itself. But, both played their parts even without a proper audience. 

Will let his head fall back and carry the rest of his body with him into the back of the Naugahyde armchair. “Mason Verger,” Will’s answer was a question behind, but he knew that Freddie could keep up. Would keep up. 

Freddie’s thick makeup crinkled around her beautiful eyes before blowing wide. “Are you and him…”

Will didn't answer, that one, didn't need to. “He can't get away with making promises he has no intention of keeping, not when the stakes are so high.” Will let his voice crack on the last word. A good effort because Freddie seemed to be hanging off the edge of the chair. She looked as if she could not write fast enough and took a moment to check her phone. Ostensibly to look at a message, but Will knew she was recording, he just didn't care. 

“Will, and I am only saying this because you have been the source of a helluva lot of click sales for me and I feel like I owe it to you to ask this.”

Will smiled, he knew it was all bluster on her part. He had met Freddie soon after meeting Peter, it was supposed to be clandestine for two would-be mates, but somehow Freddie had discovered both the time and location. She had barged into the stables of the quiet meeting. At the time, she had been a fresh-faced writer for the National Inquisitor and had flown to New Orleans on a tip from a disgruntled employee. “You only need to know what I tell you, Freddie. That’s the only truth you need for that article.” He tipped his head, just enough to expose his neck in a show of supplication.

Freddie wasn't so easily put aside, “Will Graham, we have known each other long enough that those little omega tricks aren't gonna work on me.”

Will sat back and crossed one ankle over his leg. “People see what they want to see, Freddie. You of all people should know that.”

Will imagined Freddie wasn't impressed, and the shake of her auburn head and huff of her pouty lips made that clear as bells.”I imagined you were keeping time with the good Doctor Lecter. Then all of a sudden you’re seen in the company of Mason Verger at several prominent functions. Even though you know full well what that Alpha is capable of.” She put down her pad on the table next to her, but Will noted she made no attempt to stop recording. 

“I’m sure I have no idea what you are talking about,” Will said with one of his easy smiles.

She blinked and stared at him like a teacher would a particularly frustrating student. “You got the FBI hot on your ass, you’ve buried three mates in ten years, and now you drag me here to lament your woeful tale of an Alpha taking advantage of you? Come on Will, at least pretend to believe I have a little bit of sense in my head. You are up to something, and I wanna know what.”

“You gonna do this, or not?” He asked, finally tiring of the game. He had a second third and fourth plan, but those took more time than he was able to invest at the moment. Will had always known Margot would get pregnant, it was the only way out of her dilemma of genetics, secondary genders and a brother with a seriously ferocious sadistic streak. 

“Society pages aren't my bag, Will,” she said, her hands taking the pad of paper again. “I don’t write that stuff anymore. “

He knew, knew that she had moved on to writing about murders, serial murders to be more precise. Freddie had written for the cancer pages for a while before moving up further into the world. He took the folder of photos from his lap and passed them over to her. “You know someone who does?” he asked, handing her the photos.

She gave them a cursory glance, Will had the idea she thought they would be more salacious than two men at a fundraiser, she seemed disappointed. “Really?” she said. “This?”

Will eased back and smiled. “Yeah, that caption is just a suggestion, y’all can change to whatever you need it in that context. But, I need to kick things up a notch,” he said without offering anything more. 

She read the post-it note in Will’s tight handwriting attached to the top photo. After a beat, she asked. “If I can get this to print, what’s in it for me?”

Of course, Will thought. It always comes to that. “You been pestering me for an interview. “ he started

“A book, Will. You got a whole book in here/ “ she waved her free hand at him. “Do you know how interested people would be in that? It has all the elements. Love, tragedy, wealthy families, sordid tales of woe--”

“I get it, Freddie.” Will stood up suddenly, a signal that she caught onto and stood as well. He wanted his house quiet again, he missed that. He led her to the front door. “You get that posted, and I will give you an interview. I might need something more than that. Let’s see what you can do before I sell my soul to the Devil.”

=======&=======

He’d always prided himself on his ability to maintain composure, to not fall prey to his own nature, but Hannibal Lecter felt every single cell in his body crying out for retribution. 

The newspaper was usually a pleasure for him, a respite in the early morning Sundays that left sunlight flooded through his sitting room. A cup of coffee and homemade croissants with his own jam and cinnamon butter. Not a meal he would have within polite society, too telling of his natural disposition towards sweets and comfort foods. But, it was his habit to allow that nature to walk free on Sundays. Just on Sundays. Alone and without the possibility of being measured by prying eyes.

He’s spent this particular Sunday morning with his paper, wanting to see the reviews in the Arts section of the opera he had attended the night before. It had been a beautiful performance of Orfeo ed Euridice and even with its dark themes of treachery and jealousy, it had lifted his spirits in its beauty. 

Hannibal had been a man lost since the beautiful but troubled man left his home three days before. He had considered inviting Will to the opera, but that old creeping feeling of being forward and assuming had left him attending the opera on his own. Hannibal had worked all his life to dispel that feeling, and it only took the acquaintance of an omega who may have killed his previous mates to shake that strength. 

He had gone alone, and it is only in the solitude of his breakfast room on a quiet Sunday morning that he could admit to himself, if only in fleeting stabs of self-loathing, that he had gone in hopes that again, he would meet the man there. But, the auditorium and its anterooms had been somber in the absence of this newly found obsession. However empty the place felt, Hannibal had enjoyed the opera, had enjoyed donning his person suit and his moue of joviality as he met with colleagues and fellow music aficionados that permeated the affair

Though, he did continue looking around for a flash of brown curls, ocean eyes, and sharp fangs.

Hannibal poured himself another cup of the exquisite Kenyan blend and flipped through the pages of the Arts section of the Baltimore Sun. Photos of the opera were there, along with a scathingly agile article extolling the lead’s vocal acuity and timbre. 

Another jam slathered pastry and Hannibal moved on to the society page. It was always interesting to see if any of his acquaintances were snapped in socially compromising company. Not that he cared, but information was information and he often knew of liaisons long before the rancid press could get hold of it.

Today’s fodder, however, was something he did not expect. 

Mason Verger was often featured in this once a week photo spreads. The man was showy and crass, but he was one of the wealthiest men in Baltimore, and of course, he had no shame. Mason had been snapped at some fundraiser for some politician of nefarious repute a few days hence, and he was clearly drunken and disorderly. Nothing new, nothing spectacular to report except to those who would care to see the rich behaving in such a way. The photo showed him in mid-stumble, well dressed, hair carefully coifed to look slept on and haphazard. Nothing new. 

What was new, was the man catching him from falling on his overprivileged ass. 

Will Graham held onto the arm and shoulder of the idiot; his smile a woeful expression of resolute joy and that look in his eyes, the look that Hannibal had seen only days ago aimed at him. 

He read the caption next to the photo ten times. Read until the words ran into a fog before his eyes. Breakfast forgotten, coffee spilled, Hannibal took and held five deep breaths before unclenching his hands’ on the table. He felt it then, that first stirring loss of control so long-buried it was nearly unrecognizable. 

He was now certain, it had all been so clear to him. The scent of Alpha he had caught on Will in his kitchen that day, the distance and quick exits that Will had subjected him to. Hannibal had wanted to kiss him in his study, but Will was again elusive and departed before anything could come of it. 

Anger spiked through him again, setting fire to his synaptic pathways. The anger would ignite, and the fire would catch and burn until there was nothing left. His first instinct was to allay any competition to his desires, to set the universe to rights and adjust the wrongs that the photo in the paper had made so terribly clear. 

He’s been looking for a hunt for days now, had been planning to slaughter one of the lesser pigs for some long ago infraction. This, however, was a much more important prey, a much more deserving pig. Hannibal categorized exactly how he would prepare the meal for his beloved, the heart. 

Definitely the heart. 

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

Matthew was at his kitchen table when he got in from his walk. The beta was drinking a cup of coffee he had made in Will’s kitchen and was currently in the process of making himself at home. Will hadn't even seen his car out front, nor in back. He wondered if Matt just materialized from thin air or had designed a transportation device. “Matt,” Will said pouring himself a cup of coffee and set to the task of making dinner for his pack.

Matt had the Sunday Sun open in front of him on the table. It was open to the society page Will angled his head from where he was boiling chicken to take a look. It wasn't the t=first time he’s seen the photo, he had provided it after all, but seeing the black and white rendition of the picture with the doctored caption was near jarring. “So, Mason Verger,” Matt said in that easy manner of his. An accusation in plain, even tone that held no emotion.

“It would seem,” Will said turning away from the photo. He had to play this one carefully, Matt’s feelings had been no secret, but Wil didn't have time for hand-holding and head patting. The music was playing and the band would have to be paid soon.

Matt shoved himself out of his chair and came to stand next to him at the counter. Will could see there were words to be said. He’s sworn that Matt would always be in his inner circle, would be the keeper of his secrets. But, right now Matt was a liability and knowing he would be moving on soon, it was best Matt kept as much distance from this mess that had become his life as Will could afford right now. “Engaged?” Matt said, the newspaper was still in his hand and he pointed out the caption with his long finger. “Fiancee.”

Will continued to cut up carrots and drop them into the boiling pot. “Yeah, I’m as surprised as you are.” Will smiled.

“So this is a mistake,” Matt said, the relief clear in his voice. An odd affectation given the man was often so stoic and guarded. “They should print a retraction.”

“I’m sure they will, at some point.” He doubted it. Even though it was as much of a lie as Will’s love for his last two mates, he still couldn't stomach the idea of being in the same room with the man, let alone being tied to him in any way. Regardless of Will’s ability to skirt unwanted mates, Mason Verger was something entirely different from his usual distasteful choices in mates. 

Will could feel Matt’s eyes on him as he washed his hands. “You don't seem so worried about all of this, Sir,” Matt said. 

With a shrug, Will opened the refrigerator and pulled out a beer. It may have been too early for his preferred whiskey, but burning your life leads to stress-induced headaches that only alcohol could cure. “It's a simple error, it’ll be corrected soon enough,” Will said, but left the ire out of his voice, instead he let slip a soft fluttering of his eyelashes. 

Matt wasn't one to display emotion. Even when he had come upon the scene that Will had called him to in the middle of the hunting area. Even when Randall’s body had been laid at his feet, deposited by Will’s own hands, Matt hadn't missed a beat. This time though? This time, Matt let slip an entire tirade of emotions. Will wasn’t surprised at all, he just wasn't in the mood for the vexation that Matt would let loose, either on him or to the authorities. Will touched his friend’s arm, “Matt,” he said finally. “Don’t be like that. You know who I am.” 

Matthew jerked under Will’s touch and slammed his hand on the counter. “I thought I did,” he said. 

Matt had known about Hannibal, had known the game that needed to be played to keep his freedom. Matt was left in the dark on this one, it wasn't his truth to tell and Margot deserved nothing if discretion. She’d been through enough. “Matt, whatever you think is going on with me and Mason Verger, you need to trust me.”

Matt’s face was flushed, his breathing had taken on a cadence that was sure to work up into something that Will wasn't ready to handle. He watched Matt’s hands clench into a fist and before he knew it, that fist had connected with the soft and giving plaster of his kitchen wall. Matt didn't even flinch at the obvious pain, and Will was grateful he hadn't hit a stud instead of drywall. Matt stood, still facing the wall, his hand still clenched into a fist. “You said this was it, Will.” 

Will flinched then at the use of his given name. The only other time Matt had ever uttered that word was when Peter died. Matt had been the one to find him out at his fishing hole and gave him the gory facts of life as things had stood. “Matt, you and I both know it won't go any further with Mason. Aside from the fact that he is an Alpha, the man is insane, you know that.”

Matt nodded finally, gave Will a look over his shoulder and huffed. “Yeah, I know,” Matt said. “What bothers me more is that you are in the game, and I don't even know what round we’re on.”

“Not we, Matt. Not this time. Not on this one.” He hated moving Matt off the board, but Matt had a future, Will’s hope of anything resembling a normal life with a Rockwell ending died the day he mated Peter Bernadone. Even Matt knew that; he just didn't want to admit it. Wasn't ready to. “This one I gotta do alone.”

Will was surprised when Matt only nodded, he’s expected platitudes about trust and hawks, what he got was Matt’s retreating form out the back door. 

=======&======

He had choices, he knew that. There had been a few options on where to lay the blame and clean the mess. Hannibal had risen early on Monday morning; earlier than his usual 5 am. He hadn't eaten anything the day before after the disaster with the Baltimore Sun, but he knew he had to act, his blood demanded it. 

He’d felt the first stirrings of it as he rose that morning, hot and clammy and feeling the steady loss of control he had always feared. It wasn't uncommon for a strong emotion to trigger a rut or heat in those with a secondary gender. Even with strong hormonal therapy and the use of suppressants that were so prevalent now, an Aloha could find himself in a rut given the right set of circumstances. He’d even co-written a paper on it at some point in his career. The secondary genders were considered a throwback to when humans had crawled out of the primordial soup and numbered so few that nature took over and made sure the race could have every chance of propagating. 

Hannibal shivered at his own train of thought, his hands trembled with the onslaught of his nature taking over his rationality. 

He made his way down the stairs of his home, in a state of dress he would never have entertained outside of his failing suppressants. The sun had not yet risen and the lone light turned on in the kitchen left an eerie glow sparkling from the stainless steel counters. He’d done so well, had lifted past his own nature and the expectations attached to his gender. But, Hannibal was falling and fast. His own body had turned against him and he was a slave to the intensity of its demands. He knew he had mere hours before the onslaught took hold and made him a quaking mass of stupidity. 

His bag was kept in the basement, which was where he needed to be for all the other items required. The antique doctor’s bag was handcrafted of leather and had been a gift from his uncle upon his gaining an internship at Johns Hopkins. He used it for emergency stores of medications and compounds not typically found nor allowed in the US. The Diazadrone would halt the onset, would put it into slow motion. Eventually, it would hit; eventually, there would be no stopping it, but Hannibal knew he needed those extra t hours.

Hannibal injected himself, felt the immediate rush of the illegal hormones course through his veins like an ice-cold wash of adrenaline. He felt the change nearly immediately, was able to order his thoughts again, with only the primal beat of his impending disposition rustling in the back of his psyche. Hannibal knew it would come, but at least he could still function, still do what he needed. He could not afford a week-long imposition, at least not now.

Right now, there was still so much to be done. 

It was nightfall before he had everything together, including himself. He had loaded the car with his usual tools by 9 that night, he had spent the entire day canceling appointments and ensuring that his movements would be as clandestine as possible. 

And now, hands on the steering wheel pointed toward his destination, and his destiny, Hannibal felt like an unstoppable force of nature. 

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

By eleven that night, Will was beginning to wonder if he had been wrong. Rarely, he had questioned his ability to know and to understand the inner workings and thoughts of others. He’s been playing this game long enough to know that sometimes there were invariants and sometimes there were wrenches. Will had considered that he had a wrench throw in this time, just to keep him on his toes. 

He sat on the front porch of his house, the night sky ablaze with the stars clustered into the visible Milky Way against the stark darkness of rural Virginia. He loved it here and knew he would miss it when he had to go. It had been more of a home to him than anywhere else he had lived in the twenty-five years he’s drawn breath. 

The whiskey burned hot down his throat, but Will didn't mind. He sat in the darkness of the yard, the dogs milling about and snuffing through the grasses. Buster had found a squirrel to chase and Will was certain he’d lose. 

Alana had called again and had promised that she and Margot were maintaining their distance. A week had already gone by with no word from Hannibal about the photo that he had planted. Will wasn't averse to playing the waiting game, he was still within his timeline of events and knew that, soon, one of those fish on the line would tug back hard and need reeling in. 

The car lights from a distance set him on alert. He stood and called to the dogs in the yard. Winston was first to come to his side, as always. He was gonna miss him most, even though he didn't really have favorites. He shooed them into the house, closed and locked the front door. They piled at the windows angry at being sent away when their leader clearly needed them.

Another luxury vehicle, he sighed at the direction his life had taken that he was again faced with another quarter-million dollar car pulling into his driveway. It wasn't the one he expected; well not the first to be visiting him at least. He knew Mason would show up, had expected him to call and threaten first, but in person? Something else was afoot and Will felt his hackles raise.

The driver held open the back door passenger side and motioned for Will to advance. Will knew a gaping maw when he saw one, He shook his head, finished off his whiskey and set the tumbler on the banister 

“Will Graham,” Mason said from his perch, lounging as he was in the back seat. “I hear congratulations are in order. For both of us?”

Will stood next to the open car door. “Awww, Mason. You didn't have to come all the way out here to have me. We coulda met at your place. I’m sure this is slummin’ it for you, course you do like to hang out with pigs.”

“You are a funny little man, Will Graham,” Mason said. He scooted out of the car and stood next to Will, close enough for discomfort. His Alpha scent had always made Will want to throw hands, but something in it now made him take a step back. Mason took a step forward and smiled. “Look at you, trembling little thing you are. I wonder what all those mates saw in you?”

Will held his ground. When challenged, an Alpha is more likely to fight, and Will was certain Mason was no good at that. He was also certain that the driver he came with would have no problem on that count. Nor, would Cordell, who sat in the passenger front seat, not even moving. Will figured the man wouldn’t jerk a toe without Mason’s say-so. Mason wasn’t one to fight his own battles, but he did like to revel in the spoils. “My winning personality and my sharp wit,” Will said with a grin. “If you want some pointers in that matter, I could maybe help you out, Mason. Help you find your own mate? Maybe then Margot would get a bit of rest.”

Mason growled, bringing up the man’s omega sister who he had abused for so long was only going to piss on a forest fire, but Will was counting on it. Will growled back, the sound set low and deep in his chest. The two men stood in the driveway lit by only the lights from the house. “Have you been diddling my sister, Will? She has been seeming...plucked lately.”

Will knew he knew. He’d come here to taunt, to see if it had been Will who had climbed into his coop and made off with one of his chickens. Maybe Alana had been smart and kept her distance. Better him than her. Alana was sweet, but for an Alpha, she had hardly any bite. “What’s it to you, Mason?” he taunted back. “You maybe should learn basic morality, shouldn't be playing with things that you don’t have any right to.”

Mason threw his head back and laughed. “Oh, so you are her protector now?” Another growl. “Tell me, Mr. Graham. How do you intend to do that?” Mason raised his hand and signaled his driver. The gangly Alpha came immediately to his side. Will continued to stand his ground, he had expected this, though the order was all out of whack. He had not expected Margot to formulate her own plans right at the time he’d had the situation managed. 

That old rush of adrenaline hit him as the driver moved clunkily. Will easily side-stepped the man, but the second man had come around the car from the passenger side. Will found himself held firmly around his shoulders by a much larger form. “Now, Will Graham,” Mason said, his voice dripping with desire. “You’ve crossed me, I dare say vexed. Cordell,” He turned to the man holding Will. “Would you say I’m vexed?”

The slimy-looking former doctor smiled with a row of gleaming teeth. “Yes, sir Mr. Verger. Vexed is the word.”

Will didn't even struggle against the strong Alpha. He leaned his head and showed his neck. “Aww, c’mon now Mason. “ Will angled his body closer to Mason, showing more of his neck.” We’ve had some fun, you and me. I thought we were getting closer. We could have some more fun.” He fluttered his eyelashes. “I could make you forget all about Margot.”

“Would that we could,” Mason growled, “But you have the wrong parts for what you are suggesting.” Mason took his own step back then, as he caught a lungful of Will’s scent. “Yes,” Mason hissed. “Definitely all wrong.”

A twig snapped somewhere, incomprehensibly both Cordell and the driver turned to look for the disturbance. Will knew his dogs were in the house, safe from any of the insanity that he was sure would take place. 

Right on time, Will thought. LIke a well-greased clock.

Another crunch, the sound closer and more deliberate. This time, Mason turned, giving WIll the opportunity to shake his captor. He slid easily from Cordell’s slackened grasp, leaving the man with an elbow in his gut. Will leaped across the now slouched form of Cordell and headed out into the fields. It was dark and he knew the land far better than the three men he’d left in his driveway. The night sky only held half a moon’s light but Will slipped easily between trees and rocks. He ran until he realized he was not being followed. 

Will bent over with his hands on his knees. He was a good distance from the house, now. He turned to look at his little ship adrift on the seas. If all kept going this way, it would be the last time he saw his house like this. He wished he’d left more of the lights on. Will closed his eyes and placed the ship on a safe bank near his stream. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and slid the lock screen open. Three deep breaths and he would open them again. Three deep breaths and he could deal with the rest of the night and do what had to be done. 

But, three deep breaths left a scent in his nose that hit the back of his throat like a desert storm. Vanilla, honey, and oleander. Behind that was something else, He’d read in a book once that the strongest perfumes were carried on stronger smells of decay. They even used decomposing corpses as carrier scents. That’s what Will could smell now, a hint of decay forcing that heavenly scent into a sweetness that was near cloying. 

Shit, shit, shit.

Hre knew heat when he smelled it, he’d had enough experience with that over the years. 

Will stood, whipped his head around, he was being led by his nose and his more base instincts. 

Damn him. 

The darkness wasn't the issue, he knew exactly where he was in the woods. He could h=find his way back home even without the house as a seafaring beacon. No, what was hitting him was that burn, that old familiar cant into the cellar floor of desire. The scent was affecting him. Will wanted to go home but knew it was the last place he should go right now. He wanted to find that scent and cover himself in it, but that was even worse an idea. 

He held his phone in his hand, right now was the time to make that call and beat hell out of town. Will put his phone back in his pocket and sat on the ground. The scent drew nearer, run through now with the copper mist of blood behind it. 

All of his plans were going to shit; he hadn't calculated the Black Swan event he was now in the middle of. Will whipped his head around as if he could see what he knew was waiting for him in the darkness, he didn't run, didn't hide. He knew what was waiting for him. 

“Alpha,” Hannibal whined and stepped into his view, his eyes shone wild and golden in the mild moonlight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stay safe out there, more to come!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been 84 years.....
> 
> Or is it days? I can't tell anymore. 
> 
> Listen, between the Pandemic, essential work and Black Lives Matter (they really do), I got a bit sidetracked on this. It is not abandoned. It is actually finished, just needs constant gardening. I have found my weed whacker and am now up for the task. 
> 
> When reading this please note a few things. 
> 
> The tags have changed, 
> 
> Will ain't no nice guy (was he ever? those doggos ain't fooling anyone, Will)
> 
> Oh, and smut. Did I mention smut? Guess I, too can bury a lede. 
> 
> Anyway, enjoy folks.

In all of his years as hired and kept Alpha, Will had learned a lot about omegas and their true natures. True of the insipid conventional beliefs, many of them were docile and tragically kept as undereducated and dull as possible. Even though it was universal to take hormonal therapies to mask one’s true gender, Will could usually spot an omega at fifty paces. They demurred, they weren’t loud nor abrasive. They tended toward arts and culture, rarely allowing themselves into hard sciences or lending themselves to aggressive tendencies. 

That didn't make them any less dangerous, of course. He learned that the hard way. 

Looking at the bloodied and triumphant visage of Dr. Hannibal Lecter reminded Will of all the hunts with Garrett, of the animalistic brawls with Randall that counted for mating. But something else in Hannibal’s demeanor reminded him of Peter, and Will’s body trembled at the implication. 

There wasn't any time for this. He should stop this now, make that call to the FBI and get his shit in gear. 

He should.

“Alpha,” Hannibal murmured again, his head bowed, his voice so uncharacteristically pliant. 

Will shook his head. “No,” He took a step back as Hannibal made one forward. “I’m not your Alpha,” he said. Will twisted his head toward the house, for the briefest of moments. There were things that needed to be handled and managed, and none of them involved another rich boy with an omega complex. “Hannibal, you gotta get control of yourself.”

A soft chuckle emanated from the good doctor’s lips. He moved fast, Will would give him that. The dangerous creature he knew burbled under that pristine surface was aglow in those maroon eyes. But, the target and motive were so much different than what WIll had expected. At least, not now. 

And the smell of him. 

Hannibal had his arms around Will’s chest and shoulders before he could think of his next course of action. “Hannibal,” he said, feeling his own biology start to take over. “We can't do this here. Do you understand?” The only answer to his question was a firmer, tighter hold around him. Will knew he could get out of it, run and make his escape to the car he had stashed out at the edge of his property. But, 

But, Will could feel his knot twitch at the sensation and smell of the man with heat rolling off of him in waves. He took his suppressants like any good Alpha in polite and genteel society, yet the nearness of the omega was causing Will to skip into that Alpha mode. Care. Protect. Breed.

“You got shit timing, Dr. Lecter,” Will said, his arm snaked around behind him, stroked the omega’s neck, trying to calm and soothe enough to get free of his hold. “C’mon, baby. Let up. Can't get anything done like this.”

Hannibal didn't let up an inch, Will didn't want to fight and run. He knew what lay underneath that thousand-dollar suit, he could run, could manage it but the design was all wrong now. He cursed his own reticence, his own biology that threatened to tip into rut if he kept smelling that scent; roses and rotting flesh. Hannibal was a Venus flytrap and Will had stupidly thought he could fly lazy circles just over the gaping maw of the deadly beast. Now, he was trapped, being slowly digested because of his own stupidity. “Hannibal,” he said finally, “where’s Mason.”

Will did feel Hannibal’s grip lax then, “Alpha, they wanted to hurt you.” he said. 

Will sighed, of course. It had been the plan all along. “We need to go to the house, we need to clean up.”

Hannibal did finally release him then. “Mason,” he said again. Will wanted to laugh as he watched the older man straighten himself in the pale moonlight. “Clean,” he said. 

Will motioned for Hannibal to lead the way back through the woods and fields. Now would be the time to run. And yet, he didn't. He didn't because Hannibal smelled like everything he had ever wanted on Christmas morning. His stupid dick was rock hard as they made their way back to the house in the quiet of the night.

“You damn rich boys are all the same.” he opined as he followed behind the fast moving omega. “What the hell is so hard about being an omega when you have that much money?”

Hannibal didn't answer, Will could see from his movements that Hannibal was in a different world. He was hunting and on the verge of heat. An omega this close to heat was a creature of sheer instinct. 

The scene looked like something out of a gangster movie, but the bullets hadn't hit anything made of flesh. The two goons were laid out like a Jackson Pollock painting and Will knew from the look of Hannibal’s expensive suit, he had done it all with his bare hands. 

Mason, however, was nowhere to be seen. 

Hannibal gave the scene a cursory glance but continued up the stairs to the front door. “Hannibal, where’s Mason?” he asked again. 

Hannibal pushed the front door open that Will had been sure he had locked before his company had arrived. The dogs didn't even attempt to come through the door, and in that moment Will feared the worst. He followed Hannibal into the house only to find the dogs seated in a semi-circle around a lax figure sprawled upon the Naugahyde armchair in the corner by his bookshelves. 

Mason Verger was seated in his chair.

Mason Verger was seated in his Goodwill procured armchair that, before tonight, had been his favored seat.

“Will, Willy Grahmikins. You have a lovely little house here Willy. It's a wonder with all that money you got for stud fees. How is it that you live….” Mason made a sweeping gesture with his hands. “Like this?”

Mason Verger was definitely high.

Hannibal stood with his hands behind his back. Suddenly in control of his hormones. Stoicism reclaimed in the fray of the massacre that, Will had to admit, they had both created. Though, this part was quite the little surprise. “What’s wrong with him?” Will asked more from curiosity than disgust. 

Hannibal was the Dark Prince of the Microexpression. Most folks wouldn't be able to read the man’s visage even with a map. Will supposed he would make one hell of a poker player but had no inclination to hang around and play a few hands of Ace in the Hole with the good doctor. 

The stakes were far too high, and the pot wouldn't be worth the winning anyway.

“He’s had a good night. I shared some of my own concoction with him. My own design. Of psychotropic cocktails. I would imagine Mr. Verger may be soaring with the eagles as we speak.” Hannibal turned to look at the prone man petting Will’s pack. “Or, roiling with the swine, as is his own nature.”

“Hey!” Mason objected in the slurred delayed speech of the truly wasted.”I think I have been insulted.”

“If you have to think on it, Mason, chances are you have been,” Will added without turning to look at the man. He kept his eyes fixed on Hannibal. “What are you planning on doing with him?” Will could see the small micro tremors transversing the older man. He was holding off that heat and Will doubted it was through sheer force of will, but he had to admit it was probably a good chunk of it. Randall used to try to hold his off when one would come up. Suppressants were good, especially the ones the wealthy could afford, but eventually as, in all of nature, the sea would have its tide. 

Hannibal’s tide was gonna crest, the question was, did Will want to ride that wave or head off into the safety of a sunset long dreamed of?

“It's irrelevant, now,” Hannibal said suddenly. “What’s done with him is of no consequence to me. “ The unsaid words hung in the air. Will had played a dangerous game, not unlike those he had done before, but this one had gotten out of his control and if he didn't act soon, he would be caught in between St. Charles Place and Connecticut Avenue with no possibility of passing GO.

“You already took care of the others, what’s one more?” Will said and folded his arms as casually as he could. 

Hannibal took a step toward him then. He took an exaggerated sniff of Will with his neck extended elegantly into his space. “Whoa now, there Big Guy,” Will said, moving further away. “You gettin a little too personal there.”

“Alpha,” Hannibal said, the gold in his eyes flashed again and Will could see the battle being lost. 

“Oh my, yes!” Mason said from his reclined position. “He is that!” Will’s mind played through a million different scenarios to end the farce that was playing out in his living room. This wasn't the plan, hadn’t ever been. Will stood in the middle of Hannibal’s chessboard with his King sequestered behind a very drugged rook.

“You didn't know, did you Hannibal?” Mason dug in further. “All that book learning you are so proud of. Prancing around fine establishments and waving that intellect of yours around like a loaded weapon.” Mason through his head back and descended into a burst of giggles that would offend a bus full of high school cheerleaders. “Look at you, now all you want is to roll over and present for the big, bad Alpha.”

“Shut up, Mason.” Will said but continued to look at Hannibal. No way was he gonna take his eyes off the good doctor for one moment. The man was only moments away from stripping down and whining. He couldn't have that here. No now, maybe never. 

“Oh, looky here.” Mason’s smile erupted into something feral looking, “Fee Fi Fo Fum I smell the heat of a European.” Mason edged forward as if to rise from the chair, but only managed to slump back into the leather seat and slide further into his slouch. “I don't know what you gave me, Dr. Lecter, but even your delectable heat can't seem to get me moving. Which is strange on so many counts. One, that I even would want to mount you, being far too...elderly for my tastes.”

Hannibal did turn to look at the prone man, but Will didn't want him to look at Mason, didn't want Hannibal to even consider...what the hell?

What Will wanted to do was to hop into that nondescript car he had waiting for him on the far side of the field next to his house, drive off to the wharf where the Nola waited, fully fueled and stocked, if Matt was any good for the money Will paid him, there would be enough whiskey on board to drown a herd of elephants.

Except, he was here, watching Hannibal do what he had always assumed the man was capable of. “Hannibal, you can't leave him like this.” Will asserted, placing a hand on the omega’s arm, a placating motion that had often worked on Peter, but never on Randall. “Hannibal, do you hear?”

Hannibal did hear. He moved with the stealth cadence of a half-starved alley cat. Mason's neck was dwarfed in his large surgeon's hands. A twist, a click, and a sickening crunch and Mason finally did manage to shut the fuck up. “Is he dead?” Will asked.

Gold flared in the eyes of the omega in front of him, a wry near smile grazed over his features for a millisecond. Will took a step back from the carnage and from the advancing omegas. 

The problem was, most of society labored under the delusion that omegas were docile, fragile little creatures who ached for an Alpha to submit to and a knot to be tied to. 

Well that part was true, but omegas were also capable of extreme violence. He would know, he had seen it first hand. He thought he had played the part of omega so well, he had had enough practice over the past ten years. It had been his father’s machinations and a contract with Peter’s family that had landed Will onto this path. He thought the element of surprise was his and his alone.

But, Hannibal had wanted to surprise him too, and when the tables turned the wrong way, it was Will under the glass and Hannibal with the tweezers. The good doctor kept advancing on him, and from experience, Will knew what would come next. “Hannibal” he tried. “Please, we can't do this here. There are two dead men in my front yard and one in my living room. “

Hannibal gave a glance to the now silent Verger heir. It was the only chance Will was going to get and he would be a fool not to take it. Will leapt for the front door, a path cleared by the dog’s adherence to the mess of flesh that was Mason. He hoped they got a good meal, he hoped they would be all right now that his entire plan had gone tits up. 

Will was fast, but Hannibal, in his heat addled state, was faster. Biology was a motherfucker and had he been in rut, Will knew he would have been able to fend off the older man, or he would have acquiesced to his own biology. Either way, there was no time to reach the door, and Will felt a sharp sting hit his skin and then felt nothing else. 

XXXXXXXXXXXX

He had lived in boatyards long enough to know the sound of the sea. It's what he awoke to when the fog of whatever Hannibal had dosed him with began to lift. His head was muzzy, and for the briefest of moments, he imagined himself back at one of the ramshackle houses he had shared with his father for most of his life. But, as he opened eyes that felt weighted and grainy with sand, he realized the opulence of the room would have been really out of place in the old run down cottages by the bay. 

He tried to raise his head, but felt too weighed down by drowsiness to sit up. Finding he wasn't restrained was a blessing, and a near oddity given his past two mates. Garrett had a penchant for control when he hit his heat, and Randlall, once overcome, was finally unable to deny his own biological urges and would often want to satiate those needs in the woods. 

This, Will knew, would be different. 

He took a moment to wonder at where he was and how he could get to his boat before anyone found the tangle of carnage at his house. He wondered if he would survive the gift of Hannibal’s hospitality. After seeing what he did in Wolf Trap, there was no longer any doubt in his mind. 

Will was a psycho omega magnet. 

The thought made him laugh, a gurgling, hissing thing that barely held any humor. 

“Alpha,” 

Hannibal Lecter stood in the doorway to the room, wrapped in a ridiculously omega robe and looking like a nine-year old that had just come downstairs on Christmas morning to find the bike he had been asking for for months. “Hannibal,” Will’s voice was scratchy and thick. “Where are we?”

Hannibal didn't answer him. He leaned over Will’s prone form and laid a hand over his head. A small tsk fell from the omega’s lips. He tutted again and left the room quickly. 

His scent was everywhere, cloying in it’s sweetness, but there was a scent beneath it that reminded Will of his earlier thought of a Venus flytrap. He wondered had Hannibal known the entire time? Will had played at omega in public for so long, he had gotten really good at it. He never had to flex a muscle or act with any Alphan nature. Will had been paid well for what Mason had referred to as his stud services. It was truly embarrassing how wealthy families saw an omega as a point of shame. 

Hannibal returned with a hypodermic needle and Will flinched when he saw the omega wielding it. “No,” he said with all the Alphan firmness he could muster. “Whatever you gave Mason, uh uh.” Will wanted to move away from the omega with the sticky pointy thing that housed any number of possible tortures, he really did. But, his own lethargy got the better of him and Will only managed to make a sluggish slump over to the empty side of the bed. “What are you gonna do with that? What’s in that?” he slurred, flailing his limbs.

As Hannibal moved closer, he noticed the shakiness of his limbs, that Hannibal was fending off the full onslaught of his nature with every ounce of self-control Will knew the man capable of. He said nothing as he took Will’s limp arm into his hand and slid the needle into his skin. 

There was no reaction, just more drowsiness and a hollow ache he hadn't felt since…”Hannibal, what did you do?”

Hannibal tugged his aristocratic fingers through his sweat-dampened hair and leaned to kiss his forehead. “Rest, Alpha.” he said. “Soon.”

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

It’s a documented medical reality that ruts do not last as long as heats. A rut can usually last for twenty four hours, but it's not uncommon for them to go into the forty-eight hour span. This is both an act of biology that ensures the Alpha remains in control and less likely to rut an omega into serious harm or death, but also it defines the relationship between an Alpha and an omega. An Alpha must put their needs aside in order to aid and care for the pair while the omega can focus on conception

While ruts and heats are not always synchronized, this biological safety net aids in healthy relational bonding for the Alpha/omega pair. Bonded pairs will synch up , though the time it takes for the natural occurrence varies. Most bonded pairs will take that opportunity to spend the four days or so together. Even with the onset and introduction of hormonal control of second gendered individuals, heats and ruts were still common to occur while on hormonal therapies. 

A rutting Alpha will, however, stay with a presenting omega long past his own animalistic needs have abated. The Alpha will ensure that the omega has been fed and ke[t hydrated long past the Alp[ha’s animalistic drives. Will knew all of this, had experienced all of this enough times in his life to know what to expect from an omega in heat. 

When he awoke a second time, the sun had moved to little more than a fading memory. Will sat up in the too soft bed and looked around. He could smell the omega somewhere in the house, and he could feel the slow, burning ache in his belly. His senses were dulled, but his body was fully attuned to the scent of heat, of need. He climbed from the bed and allowed his nose to bring him to where the scent was most acrid. The scent of the omega roiled through him like a slow crashing wave. It was sharp and dark, sweet with the promise of satiating the animal that he had awoken to. 

Somewhere, in the back of his rut addled mind, Will knew what he was doing was a bad idea. A horrible idea, one that would have dire and long-reaching consequences that non rut Will wanted nothing to do with--but rut Will was a real asshole with one purpose in mind. His bare feet beat along the wooden floors with an assured purpose, his skin prickled with the possibilities of what lay at the end of that delectable scent 

His trail ended in the kitchen, there was something cooking but all he could smell was the scent that had led him to this final destination. 

Hannibal was in front of the oven, still wearing the ridiculous robe he had on when he injected Will. “What did you do to me?” Will asked through gritted teeth, still fighting his nature but knowing he would soon lose. 

Hannibal placed a tray of something fresh out of the oven onto the stone counter of the island. “You are a clever boy, Will, I am sure you can figure it out.”

“You’re in heat.” Will spat, but came closer to the omega. Hannibal’s nose flared and a sheen of sweat brohe over his features. Good, Will thought. Why should I be the only one to suffer. 

Hannibal sniffed airly but turned back to his task. “I have been in preheat for the last twenty-four hours or so. I’ve managed to stave off the effects of it, but the full heat is nearly onset.” He spoke without looking at the Alpha, and that rankled Will to no end. Involuntary movement closer to his target caused no shift in his prey. 

“There are three dead bodies at my house.” he said, an attempt to gain footing against the surge of hormones rumbling under his skin. 

“Only two,” Hannibal said. “And by now, I am certain Ms. Verger and her partner have moved mountains to amend any and all evidence of the situation. “

“Mason isn't dead.” Will surmised.

Hannibal slid a glass of water to Will. “No doubt he will wish he were after he finds he is no longer as mobile as he once was. Certainly, it cured him of his...proclivities. At least, physically.” Hannibal began to remove the pastries from the baking sheet. “Your lawyer was most appreciative when I phoned her to let her know her brother needed picking up.”

Will watched the omega, struck by the elegance of both his hands and delicate movements. Sure and certain. Will wanted those hands, wanted to know how they could create and destroy in equally graceful measures. The itch that had bloomed under his skin was now a smoldering billow of desire. “Just like that.” he said

“Just like that.” Hannibal said. “I’m sure you, of all people would understand that the wealthy tend to keep their disasters off the front page.”

“That is a lot of food.” Will said, his eyes flitting between the omega and the broad range of food in the kitchen. Single-serve portions wrapped neatly and ready for storage. 

“We will need it.” Hannibal began placing the items into the refrigerator. “Mating leaves one entirely depleted of both nutrients and the higher brain function necessary to produce anything that would replenish those nutrients.”

“We are not mating, Hannibal.” Will insisted as he took a step closer to the omega.

Nonplused. “As you say, Will.”

“You injected me with something to induce my rut,” Will said, the accusation hung in the air, suspended in the thick waft of Hannibal’s aroma. 

Hannibal smiled. “I’ve done no such thing.” he waved away Will’s words and turned to the refrigerator. 

Will knew a lie, he had become so good at them himself that the words seemed to dance from others’ mouths. “You are a liar,” he said.

“Aren’t we all, Will?” The omega glared from his perch, hidden behind the mass of food he seemed dead set on preparing. “Tell me, did you feel used in your past relationships? I’m sure you were well compensated for your services, but has that left you feeling bereft.”

Will bristled, “bereft of what?” he asked.

“Your own identity. Your own agency in this world. You were the arm candy to the rich when they needed a less powerful Alpha to play omega to their misgendered offspring.” 

“You psychoanalyzing me, now?” He grabbed for one of the wrapped pastries and carelessly tossed the wrapper onto the floor. 

Hannibal bent to retrieve the plastic from the floor. “Just curious. I also wonder if you feel that loss of identity. Does your Alpha rattle under your skin at night Will? Is that, perhaps why you were drawn to those omegas that held that darkness, that fed that sinister part of you.”

Will said nothing, he had nothing to say. He knew what he had mated before, what darkness loomed in those he shared his ruts with. Electricity flowed down his spine, to his knot. 

“I’m curious.” Hannibal went on as if he could not smell the hormones ramping up from both of them. “Did you kill them out of that sense of darkness? Did they fall short of what you truly desired.”

“I did not kill Peter.” Will said, fully aware that he had missed the point of Hannibal’s question. 

Hannibal raised his head, met Will’s glare. “So you have said to me before. But, I find it curious you only mention Peter when asked about the fates of your past mates. Tell me, Will. Why did you kill the others? Why didn't you kill Peter.. Was it because he was damaged? Was his darkness shattered by the hooves of that horse in the family stables.”

“Shut up about him. His name has no right to fall outta your lyin, murderous mouth.” Will growled. “You don't know nothin about him, he was sweet, and knew more about animals than anyone I had ever met.”

“And yet,” Hannibal said, turning to place the last of the food into the refrigerator, “he is still dead.”

It was pure instinct; and by the time he had the tall omega by the scruff of his neck, Will was barely aware of anything other than the scent, and the smell of him. “Omega, present.” he said through gritted teeth.

“Will,” Hannibal said, his body lax from the hold. Omegas were easily cowed when held by their scruff, it was a clear sign of intent, an omega’s first instinct is to submit for breeding.

Will had to use it with Garret and Randall, but never with Peter. “Present!” he said again, jerking the omega’s neck. 

Hannibal scrambled and slid to the floor. His limbs are liquid and pliant. Will bent with his movements as the omega arched into position. “Alpha,” he tried. “Bed.”

Will covered the omegas back and slid his body over him. “No,” Will said. “Here.” Will pushed at the silk of the robe covering his target, the slippery material irritating him. He growled as he tried to move the flimsy fabric. “You and this fussy shit, “ Will said, still fighting with the fabric, finally moving the folds of the robe to rest around Hannibal’s neck. “All that fancy food and prissy art.” He kissed a trail over the bare back of the omega beneath him.

A whine burbled from Hannibal. It started as a gurgle but soon erupted from his lips as Will continued his exploration. “Now, don't you start that,” Will said, laying another long line of kisses and nips along Hannibal’s bare skin. He could see the curves now, softer around the middle but still broad through the back. “I’m here, Alpha’’ll take care of you.”

“Alpha,” Hannibal purred softly. “Please.”

“Please, what, Darlin’?” he said as his hands roamed over smooth flanks. “Use your words, tell Alpha what you want.” he patted Hannibal’s ass as he spoke. “C’mon, tell Alpha.”

“Please,” Hannibal said, his head bowed, his words panted through obvious pain. “I need you.”

Will liked that, liked that he was at his mercy. He had learned with Garrett, the tough ones were the biggest babies when heat finally hit. He was rutting but held onto himself enough to know what he enjoyed before having to give into his own needs. Will dragged a finger through Hannibal’s dripping hole. “Need what, Darlin’?”

Hannibal’s entire body shuddered under Will’s touch, and the Alpha could not suppress the wicked grin that he knew the omega couldn't see. “I might just toy with you for a while, let you get so wet and drippin; then leave you here. You like that idea?” He plunged two fingers into the insane warmth. Will thrusted his fingers into Hannibal roughly, Hannibal jerked into his movements, another whine from the omega burst forth.

“Use your words, omega.” Will commanded. “Tell me what you want.” Will’s teasing was beginning to work against him. While he enjoyed tormenting the lying omega under him, his own knot pulsed and throbbed. He began to rut Gunst Hannibal’s leg as his fingers continued their torment. “I know what you want, but you omegas so refined, too prim to say what you want, and the richer they are the harder they fight. “ Will added a third finger. “Tell me what you want and I’ll make sure you feel real good. “ He punctuated the promise with a hard thrust into Hannibal’s hole, his slick formed Will’s thrusts into a feast of aural symphonies. 

“Fuck me,” Hannibal growled, body still moving with Will’s movements. “Give me your knot.” 

Will slapped his ass and smiled again. “What was that?” he said.

“Please, Alpha.” Hannibal managed as his body continued to sinew wontonly. 

Will removed his fingers and slipped into the slick velvet, “Magic word.” he said and gasped. “You fee; so good.” He thrust hard into Hannibal like a man starved for human touch. He did feel good, whether it was his own rut or finally having the omega at his own mercy, Will was not sure, but he felt his knot forming too fast, “damn.” he ground as he popped his knot into Hannibal’s wet heat. He was tight, not that that made a difference, but he wondered if Hannibal had ever took a knot, was he the first? Or, had Hannibal simply killed his past lovers before they even breached. Will moaned as Hannibal’s walls clenched around him, vice like and unforgiving. 

For his own part, Hannibal had his hand around his omega cock, pumping for dear life. Will took pity on him as they were tied together and slipped his arm around to help him. “Sorry, baby.” he said, though his words harbored no conciliatory nuance. “Guess it's been a while for me.” Will rubbed over Hannibal’s cock as he came. “There ya go.” he whispered into his ear. “Good boy. That wasn't so bad, now was it?”

Hannibal mewed, they both knew it was only the first round, they would be tied together for at least another few minutes. Will sighed into his continued release, slid further to the space between the counter and the warmth of the stove. 

wo


	8. Chapter 8

XXXXXXXXXXX

He stayed longer than he should have. 

Will felt his body emerging from its rut state somewhere amongst the bright sun of a morning he wasn't sure he wanted to see. The man next to him in the sumptuous bed slept, still tied to his knot. He ran fingers over the slumbering omega, knowing he had made one of the biggest mistakes of his life, but admittedly having thoroughly enjoyed putting the fastidious murderer in his place. At least for the time being. 

As his knot deflated, Will knew he would only have mere minutes before the man stirred again, ready for another round. It was interminable. he had watched his past mates struggle with their heats, had been tender with Peter, rough with Garrett, and played submissive with Randall. Each omega was different, each one, in the end, bowed to nature. Ruts sucked, but heats? They were soul stripping. He would never want to be at the mercy of his own body’s siren call. Not like that. 

Will had no idea where his clothes were, nor if he had any identifict=ation in whatever state Hannibal had absconded him to. By his best guesstimate, it had been nearly three days, with two of those days spent relishing in the pleasure of Hannibal’s body. He was beautiful, Will could not deny that, not even in his own self-depreciation of having succumbed to the rut that Hannibal had no doubt induced. Dr. Hannibal Lecter was like a swan amongst swine. His angular cheekbones and sharp features created a dichotomy of attractiveness and beauty that should hang in museums. His body wasn't typical of an omega until you stripped him out of those expensive suits and realized his curves were well defined; sculpted like a grand landscape of some foreign topography. 

He could stay, be his alpha. Hannibal had begged him to bite, had angled his neck and bowed his back in submission, but the good Lord take him, he wanted to bite. Will found himself hovering over that sweet spot too many times over the last 48 hours. Maybe it was fate; or custom, or the fact that he had bitten so many times already he didn't know what sex was without it being a bloody mess. But, he wanted it, and it was that want that scared him enough to put his fangs away.

Will had had enough common sense and sheer force of will to know what a bad idea that would have been. Too many pieces on the chessboard, not the least of which a knight hell-bent on proving his guilt. 

Will sighed, rubbed a hand over his face, and rose onto his elbows. The early morning sun dappled through the dense fabric of the curtain. He eased himself off of the bed one limb at a time, suppressing a laugh at the old joke about coyote ugly. Hannibal would never fit that moniker, but the ugly was there, blood and teeth, gore through manicured hands. 

The floor gave a gentle creek as he landed both feet onto the floor under his full weight. He offered a brief glance to reassure himself of the still sleeping form. It was the middle of his heat, but an omegas sleep pattern between hormonal shifts could last anywhere from minutes to hours. He’d fucked him good, there was no doubt, had plowed him with food and water during the times he could, but Will knew an exit without needing a neon sign for it.

Even though he wreaked of sex, there was no time for a shower before he could escape. Will ambled silently for the closet and dug for any clothes that would fit him. It was the silk ties that stopped him cold, he looked back at his slumbering bedmate and inspiration hit.

No time for a shower, but he could at least make sure his escape wasn't hampered. 

XXXXXXXXXX

In the end, he called the only person he knew would come for him, if for nothing else than what he could give her. 

Of course, she drove an old mustang, her red hair tied back and looking as if he had roused her out of bed. The cafe he hid at was tucked into the beach, about three miles away from the cliffside house he had been dragged to. No small feat in clothes and shoes that did not fit him. Will imagined most folks mistook this walk of shame for a hobo looking for a choice spot to panhandle at. 

He had plastered himself in the corner table of the outside lounge, not wanting to offend any customers with neither his appearance nor smell. 

“You look like hell,” Freddie said as he slipped into her silver muscle car. “And you reek!” She waved her hand in front of her face for emphasis. 

“Nice to see you too, Freddie.” He leaned back into the bucket seat. 

She stared at him, car idling on the side of the small road. “What the hell, Graham? I don’t even know if I should have you in my car.” Freddie coughed into her hand. “You smell like a French house of ill repute.”

“You want your story, or not?” Will asked looking out of the window as if raging hormonal Lecter would materialize like some vixen banshee. “I don’t need your assessments on my hygienic practices, just fucking drive.”

Freddie slammed her hand into her purse and fumbled for her phone. “Hey, you called me, Graham.” She jammed the recorder function into action and slipped the device onto the dash. “You want taxi service, then you talk.”

Will sighed, anything to get his ass out of this state, hell out of the country. He couldn't go home, but he knew his house would be safe for a time if Hannibal had told the truth about Margot and Alana. His car was there, along with his ‘jam bag.’ “Yeah. all right, but I need you to take me to my house, don’t stop for anything. Straight pass, Freddie.”

Freddie mercifully threw the car into drive and peeled off onto the main road in a hail of screeched tires and curses. “Okay,” she said with a nod, her head whipping back and forth as she made for the highway. “Okay, I drive, you talk.” Freddie tapped the phone on the dash. “Nice and clear, Graham. “ She said. “And no bullshit.”

Will rubbed his hands over his face as Freddie used her free hand to dig into her purse again. She sprayed a cloying spray of her perfume into the front seat and continued to drive as if it had her full attention. 

“No story if we are both dead, Freddie,” Will said, clutching the seat as if it would make a difference when they plowed headfirst into a pilon. 

======&=======

Heats were a bitch. Even in his younger years, Hannibal had never enjoyed them, had never trusted anyone to see his vulnerable biology. He had never wanted anyone to get this close. 

And yet.

The man was a thorn in his facade, a dig into a past of stoic resolve to rise above the acerbic and vengeful god that had rendered him an equal measure of destroyer and creator. 

He’s begged for a bite like a needy omega bitch from some horrid movie shown in theatres with sticky floors and bad smells. Hannibal had held onto Will for dear life as he tore him apart again and again. 

It was the final crest, and he could feel it. The need stirred him from a deep and abiding slumber, where his dreams had been nascent and fast fading. All he had as he opened his eyes was need, want, and a cry from cracked lips. 

Alpha. 

He writhed in the bed still reeking of combined fluids. Of sweat and heat and musk. Dried stains that would render the sheets completely unusable. 

Or, a sinfully delectable reminder of their first shared decadence of one another. 

Hannibal felt the boiling in his gut and burbled forth a whine that would have had every Alpha within hearing distance breaking their necks to attend to. No response. He cracked crusty eyes and frowned at the sunlight bursting through the french doors leading to the balcony. Hannibal whined again, using his full voice. 

Nothing. 

It was the resistance as he tried to sit up that lead broke his throat from whining a third, and frankly what should be unnecessary time. His left arm refused to pull from it's stretched position. His right arm and legs were free; he’d been writhing enough to realize his freedom of movement. But, tilting his head, he saw his arm tied to the bed railing with several of his own ties in an intricate festoon of what were obviously varying knots. Sailor’s knots, he was certain of it. There were even a couple of what were known as monkey fist knots. Truly intricate and pragmatic.

In short, a concise and accurate representation of the man himself.

Hannibal wasn't sure if he should be angry or impressed. Will had stayed for as long as he could, leaving him in the final throes of his heat. And, as a gentleman would, had preserved his own escape without completely inconveniencing his bed mate. 

Hannibal sighed, the heat in his body pulsed, but nothing worse than he had gone through on his own before. He turned his legs to place his feet square on the floor and begin the slow and meticulous untying of Will’s escape. 

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

The tall beta was actually waiting for him. He paced in front of the Nola as if a tiger was waiting to strike. Will sighed, he was the second to last person he had wanted to see before making his escape. Matt had served out his usefulness, but had decided that he had more usefulness he wanted to push upon Will. “There better be an entire liquor store of whiskey on that boat.” Will said by way of a greeting to his old friend.

“We were worried.” he said. 

Will raised an eyebrow as he made his way onto his boat. “We?”

Matt nodded and followed behind him. “We. Where have you been? The mess at your place was...vicious. Margot said she would handle it. I went back through and it was handled, but no one knew where you were. Aside from…”

Will nodded. “Yeah, I was with Hannibal.” He said. Will began prepping the boat for departure. There was no time like the present, and he wanted to be as far away from Baltimore , hell The United States, as possible. 

Matt blew a harsh breath. “We figured where you were, just not in what shape you actually were in.” Matt said, “ in what location or…”

Will let loose a laugh that held no mirth. He walked back down the angled plank and headed for the car. “I was where I was, Matt.” Will said, digging for his two bags. “Now I’m here.” He was getting annoyed with the shadow act Matt had going while he prepped for his departure, and he knew he would have to keep Matt on this side of the Atlantic. For his own sanity. “You wanna know anything else, go ask Alana.” he slammed the car door and angled back toward the boat. Matt held his arm and motioned for the bags. Will acquiesced and slid the army duffle into his hands. 

They made their way back to the dock, Will stopped in front of the Nola and motioned for Matt to stay where he was. “Matt, this is where…” Will sighed and rubbed his forehead. “I gotta do this solo, Matt. You know that.”

Matt slid the duffle to Will’s feet. “Yeah, I always knew that.” he said. “Just came to give you final briefing, and say goodbye.”

Will smiled, good ole Matt. At least he understood why things had to stay as they were. “So,” Will said. “Final briefing.”

Matt smiled. “Well, you probably already know about the clean up. Margot works fast, and her brother is suitably subdued.” He smiled. The two had been friends, and it was Will who had had to keep Matt from meteing out that Texas Justice he knew Matt was capable of. “Alana is moving into her fourth month, so they are keeping a distance until after the baby is born.”

Will nodded. At least they had some sense. No matter how indisposed Mason Verger was, as long as he drew breath he could still write checks, could still find people to do his dirty work. It was what he exceeded at. “The dogs?” he asked, keeping the sting out of his eyes. He would miss them, they had been his comfort and his stability through two awful mates. And now, he was abandoning them to a fate without him. 

“Margot has made arrangements.” Matt held up his hands at the low growl that emitted from the small framed Alpha. “Nothing traceable back to them. They have been placed into a trust of sorts, five states away. All together. Hell, they live better than I do.”

Will nodded, hit wasn't part of the plan, but he figured Margot felt like she owed him. In reality, it was Hannibal she owed. He wouldn't correct her though, in fact he had no intentions of ever talking to her or Alana again. This was his new life, his second chance to be who he wanted to be and not what his father or society deemed appropriate. Will Graham was going to live his best life, and if that meant never stepping foot on American soil again, then so be it. Jack Crawford would have to find a new whale to chase after. 

Which reminded him. 

There was still the final piece that had to be moved into play. The final pawn that would be moved onto the end of the board and place the king in check. “Matt, I need one more thing. “

Matt nodded again, looking away. “The Corleone Maneuver.” Matt said. 

Will smiled. Good ole Matt. Never slept on any detail, remembered everything. “Yeah, i gotta disappear, I gotta look like…”

Matt smiled. “We got all the materials necessary, tell me how you want it.” Matt dipped his hands into his pockets and took one last look at the hulking form of the Nola. “Tell me your design.”

========&========

The Alpha was beyond angry. So close after his heat, Hannibal found himself restraining from bearing his neck in supplication. 

Shameful. 

“So, you wanna tell me where William Graham is?” Jack Crawford glared daggers l at him. Hannibal wanted to sneer but felt himself digging into a whine and hated himself for it. Hated Will for leaving him like this. Two weeks after Will’s miraculous de manifestation and Hannibal felt the ticking time bomb of missing a mate. 

Will refused to bite him, refused to even scent mark him, but Hannibal had something else, something much more long term. 

Jack surveyed the omega’s face, as if seeing him for the first time. “Dr. Lecter, I called you out here to get some answers, we were called out here anonymously by a concerned citizen. Said they hadn't heard anything from the house in days.”

Hannibal lifted his head and looked around the yard, recalling the last time he had been here. It had been a hell of a night that had led to one of the most satisfying heats he’d ever had. “Will Graham is missing?” Because of course he is, Hannibal had no doubt that he was as far away from Virginia as the North was from the South.

Jack said nothing in response. He continued to study Hannibal and Hannibal continued to keep his neck from bending. He had been forced to go off of his hormone therapy, and it would be a matter of time before all truths were as visible as the nose on his face, and far more consequential. 

He had noticed the amount of people in the lot, the house itself and the fields. He stood with Jack in the driveway of the house, watching the insects crawl over his Alohas things and suppressing a growl from the sheer insolence of it all. 

Hannibal moved to get closer to the house, but his movements were stopped with a hand on his arm. Hannibal glared down at the Alpha’s hand, another annoying gnat buzzing around him. “Dr. Lecter, we need to talk about a few things.”

Hannibal gave his arm a shake, but Jack continued to hold firm. “Jack, what is going on? I have no idea where Will Graham is, “ he said.

Jack did not relent. “See, that’s interesting, because all the evidence we found in there,” Jack gave a tilt of his head toward the house in question. “Says otherwise. “

“Evidence? I don’t understand.” He actually did, and silently wanted to praise the brilliant man who had warned him all along, but had also ensnared him as much as the spider in the amber that now sat on his nightstand. “Jack, I assumed you called me here to assist in questioning Will. You said--”

Jack’s face slammed down, any emotion in his visage was effortlessly rendered neutral. “I said a lot of things, Dr. Lecter, but so did you.” He looked back to the house. “I was given an advance copy of an article from Freddie Lounds.”

“Freddie?” Hannibal said, hating the confusion that snaked through his voice. “Why would Freddie have anything to do with this?”

“She spins quite the yarn, doesn’t she? Jack said. “But these are from the mouth of the source itself.” Jack’s hand remained on Hannibal’s arm. “We need to take some time to sit and discuss this, Hannibal. The article makes some claims, and we need to cross some things off the list before we can move forward. “ He began to lead Hannibal to his car, the government vehicle parked to the side of his own Bentley. 

Hannibal allowed himself to be moved along and herded toward Jack’s car. “What is all this about? Am I under arrest? Do I need to call my lawyer?”

Jack sighed, “I think, yes is the answer to that.” There were several other agents nearby, as if this was a planned move. It probably was. 

“What was the nature of your interactions with Graham?” Jack asked as they stood outside the car.

Hannibal shuddered. Where was this going? “You know full well the nature of my interactions, Jack. You sent me to question him. Get to know him. Find out the truth.”

“Hannibal, I have a crime scene in there. There is a lot of blood, some teeth. All Will Graham’s And, your fingerprints are everywhere in there. Even in the blood.” Jack shook his head. “Hannibal, are we gonna find your DNA in there too?”

“I haven't seen Will in over two weeks, Jack. ` Hannibal asserted. It was actually the truth. “I haven't been in this house, or in Virginia for that matter either.”

Jack glared at him finally releasing his arm. “You know I gotta do this, Hannibal. Between the evidence and the article from Lounds, this all looks pretty damning.” Jack’s face colored for a moment, as if trying to juxtapose the evidence against the knowledge of his friend. “Lounds interviewed Graham, he said he was concerned over his safety. Said you had become infatuated with him. Said, if anything happened to him, you should be the one to question.”

Jack, I--”

Jack signaled for the other agents, “Dr. Hannibal Lecter, I am placing you under arrest for the disappearance of William Graham. You have the right to remain silent. Anything--”

It was as if the ground had suddenly tilted on its axis, Hannibal felt a dizziness he would never imagine. His legs could no longer support him, he felt them buckle under him, then felt nothing else. 

XXXXXXXXXXXX

He would miss Matt. True to his word, the beta had loaded his boat with provisions, everything on his list and then some. Will stood at the wheel in the small control room. The open sea always made him feel that freedom, but this time it was real. 

He was finally free, he was finally going to see the world; not as someone’s mate, but on his own. 

He finally had enough money to do as he liked for as long as he wanted. His girls, he would miss them too, but he was never really given a chance to be their Alpha, and aside from phone calls and video chats, he doubted he would ever be a part of their lives as anything more than a nacient parent. 

He was okay with that. It would be better for them. Whatever they presented as, they would be free of all the drama. Now, with his death, they could move on and be orphans. Wealthy orphans. 

Will sipped the amber liquid and swirled it around in it's tumbler. He didn't want to think on how death equalled freedom. How his fraudulent release from this mortal coil finally afforded him what he had always wanted. 

Will imagined his father would be upset, at least he would if he ran out of his share of Will’s stud fees. He imagined Beau Graham would head out on his own trawler and tip a shot off the side for his lost son. Then, he would continue on with his life. He hoped he stayed away from the girls and their families, they didn't deserve that. Didn't deserve Beau Graham’s brand of family loyalty. 

Will smiled at the thought of Hannibal’s arrest. He had purposely stayed off of the internet, even though he had a satellite on his boat. He didn't want to know, he knew enough that Mtt had done his job, and the ladies had helped. Hannibal needed to be as neutered as possible in order to make his escape. Hannibal Lecter in a jail cell, even though he knew it would not hold, was long enough for Will Graham to erase his trail.

Hannibal had been a bump in the plan, he’d no idea the man was an omega, but in hindsight, all the signs had been there. Including the murderous proclivities, though Will had not seen them until the end of their ‘relationship,’ he had known they were there. The first time in Hannibal’s house, he smelled old blood and had wished for time to rifle through the house and find the evidence.

The sun continued to set off the port side and the coastline of Croatia rode along the aft. He had always wanted to see this place, to see all the countries and only left beholding to himself. 

He was finally free.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, this took a bit, I could not get a few scenes right and it bugged me. Still not happy with this chapter. It's a bit shorter but this was where it had to shift. 
> 
> More to come, hopefully, a bit faster since the next chapter I am happy with


End file.
